


Sodalite & Aventurine

by forreveries



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Betrayal, Blood, Bondage, Bottom Harry Styles, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Captain Louis Tomlinson, Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Hidden Relationship, KIND OF I GUESS, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Lots of kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Public Masturbation, Rope Bondage, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sharing a Bed, Top Harry Styles, Top Louis Tomlinson, and sweet things, captain harry styles, harry and louis are so fucking cheeky in this, lots of, only slightly?, sword fights, they kind of share that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 80,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21931873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forreveries/pseuds/forreveries
Summary: The one where, in his travels to find Swan’s elusive treasure, Captain Louis Tomlinson of the Black Dagger discovers he has a stowaway onboard - a stowaway who is rather tall and pretty and pouty and can spout off Shakespearean poetry as though he had written it. A stowaway who is also, unfortunately, secretly Louis’ biggest threat. Captain Harry Styles.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 121
Kudos: 949





	1. ONYX / Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks are in order! Thank you to Sarah, Sandrine and Marianne for helping me edit this! Thank you to my smiley girls for bringing this entire concept together in the first place - I'm gonna remember our chaotic scheming and plotting fondly lol! And lastly thank you to you, the reader, for taking the time to read through my hard work. I hope you love it just as much as I!
> 
> Art by the wonderful Tomlinshires.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](https://forreveries.tumblr.com/post/188040541336/sodalite-aventurine-ao3-louis-sighed-and-took)
> 
> [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6U3OQZ75RYfcy6KOaHYKVt?si=DPJ9vQJ7TyuEbbSNnp6WAw)

**GLOSSARY:**

**Quarter gallery.**

The high, tower-like structure at the back of a ship that housed the officer's quarters, including the top deck where the ship’s wheel is located.

**Powdermonkey.**

A person in charge of moving gunpowder to the ship’s cannons/artillery. This role was often filled by young boys aged 12-14 due to their ability to move around in the limited space between decks.  
  


**Keelhauling.**

The process of punishing/killing someone by dragging them through the water under the keel (underside) of a ship by rope. This was a particularly harsh form of punishment as the underside of ships was covered in barnacles, which would cut up the skin of the victim.  
  


**Quartermaster.**

The person that is second in command on the ship. They take on leadership duties when the captain is not available.

**Galley.**

The kitchen on a ship. 

**Flintlock.**

A type of pistol commonly used on pirate ships in the 17th-18th century. These fired when a piece of flint struck a piece of metal (frizzen) to ignite gunpowder. Often old guns were reconstructed into a lighters, so that when the trigger pulled, tinder in the body of the gun ignited. Matches were not invented until the early 19th century, so this was the only way for pirates to quickly ignite flames.  
 ****

**Chewstick.**

A tool for cleaning teeth before the use of toothbrushes. These were commonly made by taking licorice root and fashioning the end into a set of bristles.

**Jolly boat.**

A small paddle boat (dinghy) that sailors used to get inland through waters too shallow for their ships. They are steered with two paddles on either side.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**PART I.**

_A mother’s job is to teach her children with love._

_In mother nature, this is in the guiding winds that blow one home._

_She is in the snap of sails and the crack of wood,_

_She is in the sunrise and sunset, and the endless starry night._

_In mother by birth, this is in the hands she holds her children with._

_She is in the scolding smack, the loving embrace,_

_She is in the letters she writes for one’s return._

_But this land is run by a king_

_and no mother has a hand in the law._

_The law does not teach and it does not love,_

_It only fears and blackens and hates._

_And so, one must live outside in watery exile_

_And teach themselves_

_And hope that love will one day follow._

* * *

**ONYX | PROLOGUE**

If asked, he would have said that it was a game of chess. A series of moves, a back and forth in which his opponents had just as much a part as he. If he had blood on his hands, so too would they.

Though it wasn’t a game of chess at all. It was a row of dominoes, lined up and waiting to fall. Each brick that fell was another act, another moment, that carried certain inevitability that led towards betrayal. And it was he who, without knowing it, had pushed the first brick over.

He hadn’t known it until it was too late, until death had marred his deck and blood had spilled between his floorboards, that everything that had transpired had been entirely his fault. Had he not gotten caught up, _tied_ up, in delicious dreams of thighs and lips and love, he would have noticed sooner. He would have been able to stop those dominoes from falling. He wouldn’t have found himself caught off guard by a betrayal he knew was coming.

  
  
  


His boot clacked as he stepped down onto the dock, though the wood was somehow still wary below him, salt-softened and water-torn. Between each slat, water washed quietly. At this time of night, it was black and empty and surely full of sirens. Around him, lamps glowed orange. They hung from the other ships, along the docks and up ahead in the twinkling glimmers of Tortuga.

“Well, you were right, Captain,” Liam mused, stepping down behind him. “The Spaniards are here.”

“Don’t call me that,” Louis replied coolly, pulling down his captain’s hat. “We’re not pirates tonight.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Much better,” he said lowly. “Besides, I’m always right.”

Louis flashed Liam a wink and then pulled his collar high. It was a warm night, always was in the Carribean, but he never took a chance for his tattoos and scars to be seen on land. His jacket was leather and black and went down to his knees. Though he always wore black, it suited him. It was his colour, made him less seen — when he allowed eyes on him, it made him look sharp, deadly. Just like his ship, the Black Dagger, small but whip-fast.

There was always more power in being small and sharp. No one ever sees the pin needle knife in your pocket. It’s what made Louis so deadly. He kept his face hidden and let his name do the talking.

He’d like to call himself the deadliest pirate alive, but there was one other person who was vying for the crown.

_Captain Harry Styles._

And his brig, the Pearl Rose, was in this harbour next to the Spanish ship.

Which made things difficult.

Louis and Liam walked inland in silence, feet falling into step as the dock whined beneath them. Up ahead, a shadowy figure was sitting on a pile of crates at the edge of the dock. There was a lantern above them but their hat, leathery and worn, kept their face from view. In their hand, they held a pocket watch. It glinted in the light as though they were holding a flame.

Louis took another step and the timber below his foot groaned like it ached.

The figure looked up and Louis still could not see their face.

And then, as though they were expecting the two of them, they stood and started to approach.

“Are we sticking to the plan then, Sir?” Liam whispered as the figure drew closer.

“Of course,” Louis whispered back. “Not like a Styles is going to keep us away from that ship. He doesn’t even know what we look like.”

“But he knows the name of our ship.”

“Well,” Louis grinned. “We know the name of his.”

A lamp in the distance, dull and flickering, squeaked in the gentle ocean breeze; it was the same wind that touched just the wispy ends of Louis’ fringe. The figure was close enough to see now. It was a man. His face, bulbous and blotchy, was half lit by a lamp to their right.

“Name, please,” the man grumbled, pulling out a logbook.

“Jules,” Louis said, coming to a stop. The man was a good head taller than him, and perhaps three times as wide.

“Jules—?” the man repeated as though the alias didn’t fit in his mouth.

“Mercury,” Louis replied breezily. The name rolled off his tongue easily, like he’d said it a thousand times.

He had.

“Jules Mercury?” the man questioned, lifting his chin. “That’s a peculiar name.”

“I’m a peculiar man.”

Louis went to slip past him.

The man moved in front of him with the heavy beat of boot on wood. “Well, Mr. Mercury, you’re still going to need to register your ship.”

“It’s not much of a ship,” Louis said innocently, glancing back at the jolly-boat at the end of the dock. They’d left the Dagger two miles out, where these bloody dockmasters wouldn’t recognise it. 

“Well, it floats,” the man replied flatly.

Louis sighed and looked indignantly up at the man. “What, no charity for a mere merchant trapped to the confines of a half-sunk dinghy?”

The man took half a step closer so he towered over Louis, and then he prodded Louis’ jacket with his notebook. “No merchant would have the coin for this.”

So this man knew the stitches of French finery. And here Louis was thinking they’d all be too thick, too lowly, to recognise a _Bourguignon et Fils_ jacket.

He rolled his eyes and sighed again. He had no other option, really. Louis tipped his hat back, so that at least this man could see what it was to look in the eye of the fiercest pirate alive. He let him see the jagged scar below his ear, the circled S that always gave him away.

Then he dropped a pouch of coins onto the man’s book and sauntered right past him.

  
  


Louis didn’t bother looking back to see the shadowed look on the dockmaster’s face. He already knew what it would have looked like, the hanging mouth and the furrowed brow. The shock of white that always pulsated through their skin.

It was the same look that Liam always gave him when Louis decided to lambast some bloke with his scar.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, Sir,” Liam chided him quietly once they’d gotten far enough away, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “Soon you’ll have posters of your face in every tavern.”

“It’s too dark for him to remember what my face looks like. He’ll only know the scar. Everyone only sees the scar.”

Liam twisted his lip and walked on in silence, because it was true and they both knew it. The S stood for _sodomiser_ and it had been cut into him ten years earlier, when he was nothing more than a landsman in the Royal Navy, bloodied up and left for dead on the shores of Plymouth. 

Still, Louis wore it defiantly. Proudly.

It was a mark that said he’d survived, and he’d lived a bigger life than any of these half-wit men who thought that Louis’ proclivities meant he was somehow lesser.

His scar had lived on to become a thing of infamy, of _nightmares,_ for naval ships.

The irony.

Louis and Liam walked calmly to the end of the dock, where it met the brush of palm trees and the smell of rum. Their eyes were set on the Spanish ship on the other side of the docks, but they could still feel the eyes of the dockmaster on their backs, so they jumped down onto the sand and in towards the glowing taverns. 

Louis wondered if Captain Styles was in one of them, but maybe not. For a captain so ostentatious, so well known for his locks and tattoos and affinity for gold-laced jackets, Louis had never actually seen him in the flesh. Their paths had crossed many times, but Louis preferred to do deals in the dark and keep all his operations as stealthy as possible. Which meant that their paths crossing had only ever meant ships sharing harbours and the occasional cannon fire. There had been the one night off the coast of Bermuda where that cannon fire had almost been deadly, and it stuck in Louis’ mind often, made Captain Styles stick in his mind too.

Louis mulled over the thought of Captain Styles as they walked. His boat was so close, was _right there_. Even in this light, Louis could make out the missing tail of the mermaid that headed his ship. Louis had been the one to take it off — the only thing he’d been able to take from Styles in Bermuda. It would be easy to sneak over there, jump aboard, take something else. Though Louis wasn’t stupid; that would be a death trap. He could see men scouting the perimeter of the ship. He wouldn’t make it past the first rung.

What he wouldn’t do to just get one glance at the only pirate who’d come close to killing him.

Louis shook Styles from his mind; there was no need for him to think about rivalries and death wishes when he was here on a specific mission.

Rob the Spaniards.

They made their way along the path towards the taverns, so that the smell of alcohol became overwhelming and just a touch alluring, before skirting off the sandy track into the shadows of surrounding brush. They hid at the very corner of the first tavern, ducking below the window so that light didn’t catch their faces. And so that rum wouldn’t catch their tongues. It gave them a chance to look back and check that the dockmaster had moved on from the astonishment of meeting Captain Louis William Tomlinson. Clearly he had; he’d pocketed his coins and was sitting back amongst the crates from earlier. 

“Perfect,” Louis whispered to Liam as a man swung open the tavern door and lurched outside. “Now we just have to make it onto the ship unseen.”

Liam whispered back, grin in his voice, “Easy.”

They waited for the drunken man to stumble over to the bushes on the other side of the building, and then slipped back towards the docks.

Getting on the Spanish ship was easier than expected. Once they’d snuck past the Pearl Rose, there were no other men to be seen, no night guards nor drunks. In fact, the entire place seemed eerily deserted.

They snuck onto the ship completely uninterrupted and made their way to the door of the captain’s quarters. There were no lamps glowing on the ship, which meant that the Spanish had let their guard down and let everyone go and get drunk inland. That, or whoever was meant to be keeping watch had fallen asleep during their shift and the lamps had been snuffed out by the ocean breeze. 

Liam picked the lock with ease and they made their way inside. 

They were good at making work in the dark, so they didn’t bother with lighting a lamp or candle. All these ships were laid out the same anyway, so Louis was perfectly capable of making his way around on sound alone. Still, the moon was high and it gave them enough light to see the captain’s room at the end of the hallway lit up in navies and greys.

Through the wide window at the end, the ocean glistened dark and flat.

“They’ll be in there,” Louis whispered as he made his way towards the room.

Once inside, Liam clicked the door shut behind them and they started looking around for the one thing they’d come for.

The box of maps.

It was a small box, about the size of a book, containing a collection of encrypted maps from Captain Swan’s voyages. The Spaniards had come into possession of them when they’d taken his ship, and they’d clearly come to Tortuga to top up on supplies before venturing out to return all of Swan’s riches to their king.

Louis let his hands wander over all of the Spanish captain’s belongings as he searched. He was confident he had the time to let his fingers touch all the fineries and the trinkets that the room was cluttered with. In another life, Louis would have lived like this captain. He would have lived within the confines of the law, acting as a mercenary such as this, or perhaps as the naval captain his mother had thought he’d gone off to become.

This Spaniard captain had ivory from Africa and golden elephants from India, but they weren’t what Louis was most interested in.

He preferred the books.

There was a massive collection along one of the walls, where leather-bound books of all shapes and sizes stood in neat rows. Louis pulled one out from the shelf and drew a finger over the golden letters across the front. It was one of the few that were in English and read _A Playwright’s Journey_ , and even though Louis didn’t have much experience with playwrights, it sounded interesting. It sounded like something he hadn’t read before.

So he pocketed it.

“You’re not going to have room in your jacket if you nick anything else, Cap,” Liam quipped.

Louis spun on the spot to look at Liam, who was hunched over the lock of the desk drawers below the wide window. He hadn’t even looked up, couldn’t even see that Louis had taken anything.

He simply knew him too well.

“Mind your pants,” Louis tutted, coming over to stand over Liam picking the lock of the bottom drawer. Though he made no effort of returning the book.

Liam unlocked the drawer with a triumphant hum under his breath before pulling away his tools and sliding open the drawer. They both peeked inside curiously.

“Is that—?” Liam asked, unable to quite get the words out.

“I—” Louis started before scrunching up his nose. “Horrifying.”

Louis unsheathed the dagger from his belt and reached into the drawer. He hooked it through the thing and pulled it out with as much enthusiasm as a man on the plank.

It was a silk corset, and at a guess it would have been a creamy colour — had it not been absolutely drenched in the dull brown of old blood. There were puncture marks all over it, as though the person adorning it had been stabbed with something small and precise like a letter opener.

It wasn’t the blood that got to Louis, though, it was the clumps of hair matted into the grommets and the hardware that ran up the back of the corset. It was dark and long and had bits of mud or worse clinging to it.

“Perhaps it’s his wife’s” Liam mused, half appalled half amused.

“Perhaps it’s a trophy,” Louis said back, carefully placing it down to the ground.

“Either way,” Liam chuckled, “it’s the closest you’ve come to a woman.”

Louis gave him a look. Then he rolled his eyes and grinned. “You’ve always got something to say, Payne.”

“It’s the only way to keep up, Cap,” he grinned back. 

“Well perhaps you ought to hush, because _that_ right there is the box we’re after.”

Louis pointed his knife back into the drawer, where sitting inconspicuously was a glossy onyx-laid box. It had Swan’s stamp chiselled out of it and filled with gold.

Louis swiped it and flung the corset back into the drawer, lest someone notice the room had been rummaged through. He stood and slid it into his other jacket pocket. It was heavy, and between the book and it, Louis was significantly weighed down. He didn’t like that feeling, but by no means was he going to give up either item.

“Shall we go then?” Liam asked as he slid the drawer back shut and stood to meet Louis’ eye.

Louis scanned the room thoughtfully and then softly said, “Grab that book on the bed.”

Liam looked at him incredulously.

“What?” Louis implored. “I’ve no more space in my coat.”

“It’s not that, Cap,” Liam replied, not making any move to go over. “We’re not meant to be noticed, remember. You’d be insane to take a book that’s actually being read.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Sometimes the reward of a good book outweighs the cost of being seen.”

“Wow, that’s poetry.”

“Why thank you,” Louis said airily as he made his own way to the unmade bed. He plucked the book up and came back to Liam. When he got there, looking up at Liam who was a gold piece too tall to be eye level, he shoved the thing into his chest. “But I’m no idiot, Payne. It’s the captain’s diary which, as you know, is a great place to look if you want to learn about your enemies.”

He turned on his heel and slunk out the door.

Behind him came the faint sound of, “But Cap, can you even read Spanish?”

Louis paid Liam no mind. There was no one on this ship, so he had the time to grumble over the fact that his crew consistently called his ability to pirate into question. He would have been killed by now if he didn’t know what he was doing. And _of course_ he couldn’t read Spanish, but that wasn’t the point. The point was one of his crew members surely could, and he’d easily be able to use the book to devise a plan to take down more ships based on what this captain said about his friends.

He pushed the door out to the deck open and didn’t wait for Liam to catch up. No doubt he’d grab something of his own before slipping back out into the night. Out on the deck, it was quieter than before. The sound of the taverns had died down and the moon shone brightly enough for him to see, in the distance, men laying face down in the streets. It didn’t shine enough to tell whether they were drunk or slaughtered, but that wasn’t for Louis to worry about. His crew were still packed away on his ship, waiting for him to return so they could sail to Port Royal.

He made his way down to the dock and back around to the side that his jolly-boat was parked at. Strangely, though, the dockmaster wasn’t at his perch. And there was another, different, man walking towards Louis. He was tall and lean and had dark curls falling to his shoulders, but his hat kept the moon from giving away his features.

He seemed in a rush, flying past Louis so quickly that he brushed the edge of Louis’ shoulder with the corner of his own leather jacket.

“Excuse—” Louis started, spinning to call out the man, but he was already out of earshot. He was running past Liam, who was ten paces back and looking just as mystified as Louis felt.

“Who do you suppose that was?” Liam asked once he’d caught up to Louis. “Thanks for deserting me, by the way.”

Louis shrugged as he watched the stranger disappear into the night and softly said, “I don’t know, but he’s certainly got places to be.” Then he turned to Liam and smiled. “Should I start questioning your ability to get out of places by yourself?”

“On a Spanish galleon? Perhaps,” Liam begrudged as they started walking down to the jolly-boat together.

“There was no one on it.”

“That _you_ know of, Cap.”

“True,” Louis supposed. He was about to remind Liam that he did in fact manage in the end but they came upon a curious sight. It was the dockmaster. He wasn’t on his crate, but his foot was sticking out from behind it. Louis went silent as they came up on him, close enough for the rest of his body to come into view.

He was face down.

Louis swapped glances with Liam, and then he gently kicked the man’s right foot. 

It wobbled lazily and then fell back into place.

“I don’t suppose he’s…” Liam murmured, voice trailing off as he watched Louis lean down and tug the man’s shoulder back to see his face.

There was a clean slash across his neck. Blood was still freshly pouring out.

“Dead? Yeah,” Louis breathed as he let the man’s face drop back to the ground with a thud. “Neck’s cut.”

“I guess we know why that man was in such a rush.”

“Mm,” Louis hummed as he cut the man’s money pouch from his belt. No point in a man dying if not to line Louis’ purse. “Strange he didn’t rob him, though.”

“Between this and the bizarre emptiness of that ship, the whole night’s been strange.”

“Quite true, Payne, I suppose we ought to hedge our bets and get back to the Dagger before anything else goes amiss.”


	2. RUBY

**RUBY**

Two weeks later and Louis was sitting at the desk in his quarters. Around him, his room was a warm, musky swell of trinkets and books and bedsheets. He was never one to be particularly tidy and he was never one to let anyone else do it for him. Through his window, he could see Port Royal growing smaller and smaller in the distance. In front of him, on his desk, he had the maps that he and his sailing master, Niall, had trawled over for hours before setting course. The closest of Swan’s treasures was on an island off of Southern Africa, which would take months to get to, so they’d packed up enough food and supplies to make it to Senegal along the way.

He wasn’t reading over the maps though, he was four chapters deep into the book he’d stolen from the Spanish ship in Tortuga. At the time, he hadn’t known it, but the book was about William Shakespeare. It was a retelling of his life and Louis was enthralled. He’d heard the stories of his plays, and some of the crew had taken to performing their mangled versions of them on the warmer nights. But he hadn’t known much of Shakespeare’s actual life and how there wasn’t much left behind beyond hearsay.

It had been a quiet morning, leaving port and setting sail towards East. Louis had just gone out to check on his men mere minutes earlier and everything had been runnning. It always did. With this crew at least. It had taken him five years to assemble a group of them that were as much comrades as they were pirates. He didn’t take anyone on that didn’t know the meaning of hard work and loyalty. There were three rules he kept on his ship; respect your equals, respect those below you, and respect your enemy. Nothing good came from arrogance, as much as Louis’ quick tongue might have them thinking, but there was a difference and a tact in letting people think you were arrogant and actually being it. At the end of the day, they were pirates. This wasn’t a game you won by being better. You won by playing dirty and being two steps ahead at every turn.

A knock came on his door.

Louis recognised it, light and fast enough to be Ernest, one of the powder monkeys.

He had time for the kid after finding him emaciated and with one hand in Louis’ coat pocket in Devon. 

Louis got out of his chair and opened the door. Immediately, sounds of hollering filled his ears. Ernest was looking up at him with his arms crossed. “Uh, you might want to come out ‘ere, Sir.”

Louis had always told him to call him Captain or Louis, but the kid insisted.

“What is it?” Louis asked lightly, coming through the door to follow Ernest out to the deck.

“Stowaway, and not the good kind,” was all he said. 

“Not the good kind?” Louis grinned, bemused. “What’s the good kind of stowaway?”

Ernest looked up at him quite matter-of-factly. “The kind that could be put to work, Sir.”

“Interesting. Let’s see what we’ve got, then.”

They came up to Louis’ crew who were standing in a crowd around the base of the centre mast, hurling jokes and insults. There was only one way to silence this lot so, grinning slyly, Louis leant down and pulled out the dagger he kept in his boot. It was thin and curled delicately around the crossguards, with a single ruby at the base. 

He winked at Ernest and threw it at the crowd.

Ernest almost giggled as Louis’ hand deftly extended and sent the dagger flying. It flew above the heads of the crew and struck the wood of the mast with a thrumming quiver. The crowd went quiet and looked over to where Louis and Ernest were standing behind them. Then they parted so Louis could move between them to where his quartermaster, Liam, was standing with his arms crossed over the stowaway.

“What have we—” Louis started, keeping his voice proud and unaffected, but it fell away when Liam turned and the stowaway came into view.

He knew exactly what Ernest meant by _someone they couldn’t put to work._

The man was bent awkwardly over some crates, his chest facing upwards and his hands ties in front of himself. And he was gorgeous. Simply too pretty. That was all Louis could think, nothing about how he was going to torment him for stupidly jumping on a pirate ship dressed like _that_. Because the man was dressed in leather trousers, tight and shiny, and the laces at the front hung a little too carelessly. His shirt was white and silk and had lacy ruffles at the front, where his collar fell open low enough for sparse chest hairs to peek out. Above that, he had a few gold necklaces on, layers of coins and crosses and pearl beads.

Louis just about fell over by the time he made it to the man’s face. He’d never seen a jaw so sharp. It almost cut through the man’s skin as he looked up at Louis with gritted teeth. His skin was clearly touched by salt and sun, but his complexion was clear and young and he had the features of a king’s son. All delicate cheekbones and arched brows and beautiful, pouty lips. And bloody hell, there was a natural curve at the edge of his mouth that made him look like the sight of Louis at a loss for words was something he would happily gloat over.

His hair, though. His hair was the worst. It was long and fell into loose curls. The wind that went through the ship’s sails went through his hair like fingers, and Louis wished they were his. He wanted to leap forward and put his hands through this man’s locks and pull his head back so Louis could whisper in his ear and ask him why he was dressed like some young girl’s fantasy of a pirate. He’d let his lips graze the man’s ear as he asked it, and he’d let him feel the racing of the heartbeat in Louis’ fingertips.

The man looked up at him defiantly, raising his own neck so Louis didn’t have to do it for him, and so Louis could see the veins snaking up his skin.

“Found ‘im below in one of the crates,” Liam stated, glancing over his shoulder and cutting through Louis’ thoughts. “What do you want to do with him, Cap?”

Louis could have sworn he saw something flash through the man’s eyes as Liam addressed him. Something like surprise or awe. 

He tried to ignore the way his eyes seemed so doe-like behind his eyelashes.

Louis ignored Liam’s question too, favouring taking a step closer to the man as he raised his chin. “Who are you?”

The man was silent. His mouth quirked with a smile.

Louis took another step forward, so he was standing right over the man. 

Louis spoke lowly, as calmly as he could muster while looking at those perfect green eyes. “I said, who are you?”

The man looked up at him, blinked twice as though he were innocent, and then winked.

Louis didn’t know what to do with himself. This was the problem with people with such looks, they go through life thinking they can do whatever they want. They can waltz onto pirate ships like they own the place.

And yet, he was still so pretty.

Louis needed to think on his feet. He needed to get a name or a plot or even just a single word out of this man. Ordinarily, Louis would have gutted him right here, he would have pulled the answers out of him like they were milk teeth. But the thought of doing that here, in front of his men, made him feel strangely self-conscious. He was worried he might fumble his words or catch himself staring with the wrong sort of face and his crew would laugh, they’d jest, and they wouldn’t take him seriously. His days as captain might well be over if he showed such weakness for such a pretty creature.

“To your quarters!” Louis suddenly shouted, not quite able to take his eyes away from where the man’s shirt fell loosely to expose the edge of his collarbone.

No one moved. Not even Liam.

Louis huffed out a short breath and forced his eyes up to the crowd, shouting again but this time as though they were in gun fire. “Below deck! Every last one of you!”

There was another short moment where no one quite knew how to move, and then Liam finally remembered himself, remembered he was second in charge, and started yelling for everyone to move. “Get down below, mates! It’s not a fucking hanging! Move!”

They finally, finally scurried.

The door leading down into the hull of the ship slammed shut behind the last man, but Louis could feel Liam’s presence still behind his shoulder.

Louis didn’t look back at him as he stonily said, “You too, Payne.”

“Cap?” he replied. He almost sounded betrayed.

“I said, you too. I want to teach this man a lesson, and I want him to know that it was the captain, and the captain alone, who did it to him. When what’s left of him floats back to Port, the Tomlinson name will be the only thing left in his mouth.”

The man didn’t seem to respond to that. He just looked up at Louis and Liam innocently. It was as though he didn’t even speak English.

Liam sighed and then said, “Right you are.”

As he walked away, Louis definitely heard the mutterings of, “Never was one shy to make a celebrity of himself.”

Louis ignored it and looked down at the man. Then he crossed his arms and gazed out at the horizon, where blue met blue. Ponderously, he thought aloud, “Do you know where you are? Do you know the name _Black Dagger_?”

The man didn’t reply. It was beginning to get on Louis’ nerves.

He sighed and took a thoughtful step, still not looking back at the man because it was easier to remember his tongue this way. “Alright then. Suppose I gut you and hang your innards as shark bait, would you prefer that to speaking one word? Or what if I take your tongue? It doesn’t seem you need it.”

He glanced back at the man to gauge his reaction.

There was none.

But then, ever so slightly, on just the corners of his mouth, he smiled. And he uttered, “So you’re Captain Tomlinson?”

Louis stopped midstep. Almost tripped over himself.

“The very one,” he managed to say, only barely keeping his voice from wavering. Even the man’s voice was pretty. Deep and gravelly, and too manly to come out of such a face.

“Can I see your scar?” He sounded almost delighted.

Louis’ breath caught in his throat. Everyone only ever remembers the scar. 

“Why?” he cooly asked.

The man took a moment to consider his words and then he said simply, “I want to know it’s you. For sure.”

Any other day, Louis would have gladly shown it and then slit the throat of that whom had asked. But in that moment, he couldn’t. He could only look at the man and ask, again, “Who are you?”

“I’m a fan.”

“You are?” Louis asked softly before he caught himself and stood a little straighter to try again, this time with more authority. “You are, are you? So you thought that you would climb aboard and join my crew dressed like this? Dressed like— like a courtesan?”

The man blinked up at him, slowly and purposefully and with a smirk on his face. “Is that what you want me to be for you?”

Louis leaped at him, pulling the dagger from the mast above his head and pressing it to the man’s throat. He lifted his chin with it. Louis bared his teeth as he sucked in a deep, callous breath and said lowly, “It pays not to mock me, _boy_.”

Cooly, the man replied, “I’m not.”

“Then what do you want?” Louis asked. Their faces were close enough for Louis to feel the man’s breath against his neck.

“I want to know why such a famous pirate would hide such a pretty face.” The man breathed out a small grin. “Your scar isn’t as big as I thought it would be.”

“Yeah? Do you have a nice view from the end of my blade?”

“The best.”

“Stop playing games and tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here.”

Louis pressed his blade deeper into the delicate skin below the man’s jaw.

The man looked up at him and swallowed. And then he pressed his neck into Louis’ blade defiantly and whispered, “Go on, then. I dare you.”

And. And Louis couldn’t do it. He wanted to, he wanted to be done with the arrogance of this man. And yet he simply couldn’t. He wanted to know more, he wanted to know how the man could possibly talk with such ease against the blade of a knife.

And secretly, deep down, for the fact that he’d never met someone so careless, Louis kind of wanted to kiss him for doing it.

The man caught on quickly with a smirk. He held Louis’ eyes and carefully whispered, “I must admit, I’m a bit taken aback too. I had no idea you were quite the looker.”

Louis couldn’t even come up with a quick take on that.

He could feel the man’s breath again. It was slow and measured and felt like the moment before a kiss. 

“Wha— what…” Louis whispered, but he couldn’t string a sentence together. The man was tied up yet he had Louis completely in his grasp. Louis’ grip on the dagger loosened.

The man chuckled quietly. “Instead of bumbling, you could just kiss me.”

Louis blinked at him.

“Do it,” the man whispered. “I dare you.”

Louis cleared his throat and managed, “I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not? You’re the famous sodomite pirate and you can’t even kiss me?”

“I don’t even know your name,” Louis murmured.

“Do you want to?” the man whispered. He leant closer still, close enough for Louis to feel some wisps of his long hair blowing against his cheek.

Louis could only nod and stare at the man’s lips.

It was like this man had some sort of spell on him. Some sort of siren song.

“Cut my shirt.”

Louis’ eyes shot back up to meet the man’s. He was staring up at him stilly. 

“Your shirt?” Louis whispered, confused.

The man nodded. “Cut my shirt and then, if you really want, then you can cut my throat.”

Louis looked down at the shirt that floated down the man’s chest. The watery lace down his neckline seemed too delicate to cut away at, but the thought of the fabric tearing to bare this man’s chest was too alluring. Louis wanted to see the tiny threads of silk stream out from the gash and catch the ocean air like this man had caught Louis’ breath. There was something so exciting, so unfathomable about the confidence this man had. Louis had either met a lunatic, or his match.

That had never happened before.

Louis lowered the blade further from the man’s neck and down to the bottom of the V of his neckline. It didn’t take much effort, the shirt split like butter under the sharpened edge of Louis’ dagger. It slid downwards, veering ever so slightly to the left.

Louis stopped.

The corner of a tattoo peeked out as the fabric was slit lower. The head of a swallow.

Louis tried to keep his breath even. It was a fairly common tattoo among sailors.

He cut a little further.

Another tattoo peaked out and Louis couldn’t breathe. It was a moth across the man’s stomach and Louis knew of someone who had it. Someone with long curly hair.

He refused to believe it.

But he needed to know for sure.

Louis cut to the edge of the shirt in one trembling swoop and all the colour left his face.

There, on either hip, were two laurels. The very two laurels that Louis had heard about a certain pirate captain getting after he took down three naval ships near St. Helena. 

“What the fu…” Louis breathed, unable to get anything out over the knot in his throat. “You’re—?”

He looked up at the man’s — Captain Styles’ — face. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“So are you going to kill me or kiss me?” he asked, raising both his eyebrows. Like this was some game.

Louis didn’t know what to say. Or do. Kill him or kiss him, he couldn’t do either.

He should kill him, this very Harry Styles that he had bound up. It would be so easy. Too easy. Only a coward would kill him in such a way, tied up, unarmed. There was no respect in that. Nothing to do with the sight of his chest bared in the pulsing sun. Nothing to do with the beads of sweat against his sternum.

Louis blinked down at him and felt his cheeks redden. There was surely no way he wasn’t already given away, the pirate in front of him was playing games with him. He knew he was pretty, that he had Louis’ chest in knots, and that merely by sight alone he couldn’t cut his throat.

“You have some gall,” Louis sneered, bringing his knife back to Styles’ neck as he tried to keep the stammer out of his voice. “I should throw you overboard right now.”

“Nothing’s stopping you.”

“And then what would the point be?” Louis asked. His voice cracked, went up a pitch on the last note. “Why the fuck would you come aboard my ship and let yourself be revealed so flagrantly?”

Styles just shrugged. And smiled.

“What game are you playing?” Getting answers out of him was proving more painful than Niall’s amputation looked. Louis brought his face closer to Captain Styles’, so he would almost feel the canines Louis had on show. 

“Answer me,” he whispered.

Captain Styles took a breath and finally, _finally_ , started to say something of worth.

“Well,” he uttered, twisting his lip thoughtfully. “Truth be told, I had planned to—”

He paused and Louis sucked in a breath.

“Well?” Louis echoed under his breath. It came out so lightly that he barely even heard it himself, over the squeak of wood.

A door.

Someone was above deck.

Louis whipped back. He hadn’t realised how close his face had gotten to Styles’. He spun his head towards the sound and saw two pairs of eyes looking at him from the hatch below deck. He couldn’t tell who it was, but it didn’t matter. It meant that the crew were getting impatient, were growing bold in their curiosity as to why blood hadn’t yet seeped through the cracks in the floorboards.

_Fuck._

Louis needed to do something, and he needed to do it now.

He looked back at Styles, back at his fucking perfect doe eyes, and tried to come up with a plot. A ploy to get himself out of this situation. He wanted time to get answers, to work Styles out, to figure out if he was already in the middle of some ruse.

“Get up!” Louis commanded, deftly swapping his dagger to his left hand so he could tug Styles up by the rope around his hands. It took all his strength — Styles seemed to be dead weight beneath him, letting his body slacken as he merely furrowed his brow at Louis.

“Get the fuck up,” Louis repeated, this time quieter. Sharper.

And finally, Styles moved. He lugged himself up so he was standing and it almost made Louis topple over. Because Captain Styles was taller than him, more broad-shouldered than him, and with his shirt cut open Louis could see how his muscles shifted beneath his skin.

“Where are we going, Cap?” Styles asked lightly, almost fucking politely. As if he wasn’t causing Louis to go mad.

Louis ignored his question. It was easier to focus that way, to come up with a way to get out of this and still remain captain. He couldn’t let his crew know that he might’ve gone soft, that he didn’t take the opportunity to gut Captain Styles while he had the chance. If they came above deck and saw him, saw his tattoos, Louis wouldn’t even have a second to explain why he was more valuable alive than dead before they tore him to pieces.

Louis turned towards the half-open hatch and started marching towards it, yanking on Captain Styles’ rope so he fell into step. He came upon the door in the deck and didn’t stop. Instead, he stomped right down on it so it banged close.

A whiff of breath came from behind him, a quiet laughter. And Louis didn’t have to turn to know that Styles was smirking, that he was well aware that Louis was doing something he shouldn’t.

Louis kept walking, his shoes clunking heavily across the wooden floorboards as he made his way to the starboard edge of the ship.

And of fucking course, Styles had something to say about it.

“Gonna throw me overboard? How boring.”

Louis rolled his eyes and kept walking. When he made it to the bannister at the edge, he turned and shoved Styles against it.

He was perhaps a little too careful that he didn’t push him overboard.

“Take your shoes off,” Louis snapped under his breath.

Styles looked at him, bemused.

“I’m anything but boring, now take your fucking shoes off,” Louis repeated, quiet enough for no one else on board to hear him.

Captain Styles conceded with a thoughtful shrug and then kicked his boots off. He stood there quite pleased with himself once he’d done it, giving Louis a squinting grin.

Louis didn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. Instead, he leaned down and picked up both boots. Then he kicked the bannister a few good times to make it sound like there was a struggle and threw them over.

Captain Styles’ face changed at that, confused and like Louis had actually gone mad. Which had Louis biting back his smile because, finally, he was the one who was a step ahead. Who was in control.

Silently, Louis pointed at his feet and then pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for Styles to be just as quiet. He clutched the rope around Styles’ wrists again and started walking them back to the middle of the ship, back to the captain’s quarters.

Louis’ heart was beating, harder than it had in years. And it wasn’t the fact that he was sneaking around the ship— that sort of thing was stock standard for Louis; he was known for his stealth, for his tricks. It was the fact that he was sneaking _the_ Harry Styles into his quarters, and could hear him trying to conceal his giggles from behind as he shuffled across the ground.

Louis yanked him forwards a little to shake the giggle out of him.

It worked. Captain Styles promptly sucked in a quick breath and stood a little straighter.

And yet, it was Styles’ silence that had Louis almost forgetting his own. Perhaps it was the fact that Louis was finally having some authority in this situation, or maybe, if he let himself be just a splash honest with himself, it was because he could feel the warmth of Styles’ hands near his ropes. 

He could feel the warmth of his whole body too. He was walking so closely.

Louis tried to control his face as he came up to the door of his quarters, which was difficult because he knew that as soon as he opened it, he’d have to look up at that perfect bloody face again. As he touched his fingers to the handle, Louis pursed his lips together and sniffed up a careful, preparatory breath.

They slipped inside and Louis, in his quest to not have Styles see the wavering scowl on his face, shoved him ahead down the hall. He nudged Styles’ back with the dagger in his left hand as they came up to the last door in the hallway. Louis opened the door and pressed his knife against Styles’ ribs, making him shuffle in quickly.

“Sneaking a rival captain into your quarters, behind your crew’s backs?” Captain Styles mused brightly as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. “You really are just as sly as they say.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis replied, keeping his voice as flat as possible as he slid his key into the door to lock it. He wasn’t going to give up what little control he had over Styles just yet. “If there’s anything people say about you, it’s that you play games too. So I’m not killing you until I find out what game it is that I’m in the middle of.”

“Is that really all they say of me? That I play games?” Captain Styles asked almost petulantly as he watched Louis lock the door. “I’m so much more than just _playful_.”

“That’s not the word I would use,” Louis replied, coming up to Captain Styles so he was looking right up into his eyes. He was a good hand taller than Louis. And it put his lips at Louis’ eye level.

“What word would you use?”

Louis shoved him. So he stumbled back towards the edge of Louis’ desk. “Showy.”

Captain Styles’ thighs hit the desk. Though he didn’t stumble. Instead, he actually lowered himself so he was sitting on the edge of it. Like this was some casual encounter.

“Showy?” Captain Styles repeated quite thoughtfully. 

“Mm,” Louis hummed as he leaned past him and opened his top desk drawer to pull out a long length of rope. “All I’ve ever heard is that you’re ostentatious and you like to make a big play of everything.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Styles supposed. “Well I would, actually. But I’m not showy for the sake of it, it has a point.”

“And what’s that?” Louis asked, shoving the drawer shut with a crack.

“Surely you know the answer to that, _Captain Sodomite_. The infamy we spin is all much bigger than who we actually are. It’s all a show to make people think a certain way about us. You and your hidden face and your scar and your deadly night raids.”

“And you with your big mouth, I suppose?” Louis stood back to look up at Styles with a hand on his hip. A smile crept up the corner of his mouth.

“It’s only big when I want it to be,” Styles said, and he actually fucking winked.

Louis didn’t know what to say to that.

So he just let out a small sigh and resigned himself to tying his length of rope to that which bound Captain Styles’ wrists. There was a quiet moment where Louis concentrated on tying his knots so that they wouldn’t be untied, and where Captain Styles breathed down on Louis’ fringe. And then, quietly, thoughtfully, Captain Styles murmured, “You know, for all the stories I’ve heard about your wit, you sure don’t have a lot to say.”

Louis was not going to tell him it was because Captain Harry Styles was prettier than he’d anticipated and that made him _nervous_.

“You could tell me what you’re planning to do, you know,” Styles added, letting his voice pick back up, get a little more playful again. “Is that where we’re heading?”

Louis glanced up in time to see Styles motion his head to the papers, the _maps_ , strewn across his desk.

“That’s—” Louis started, yanking on the ropes around Styles’ wrists to pull his eyes away from his desk. “That’s none of your business where we’re going. On this ship you’re a hostage, not a Captain.”

“I recognise that box, though. Swan’s maps.” He was fucking grinning as he said it. “Off to find some treasure?”

It felt like there was no right way to answer him. Say yes and Styles would know he was on his way for pounds of gold, say no and he’d think Louis dim for having the maps and not following them. Either way though, Styles knew he had the maps in his possession now.

“Come,” Louis instructed instead, pulling his rope so Captain Styles had to come away from his desk. He let himself be pulled rather lazily, like he wasn’t much bothered by the fact that Louis had him tied in ropes — he was much more interested in having a thoughtful conversation.

“If you won’t answer me that, I can tell you what I had planned to do, if you like.”

“Sure,” Louis said, leading him to the edge of his bed. He wanted to take back some control, try make Captain Styles squirm, to make him feel less blasé, less comfortable. He was going to tie him up but it wouldn’t be somewhere where he could rest his legs any time soon.

The bar at the top of his four poster bed would do. He could make him stand there until Louis knew what to do with him.

“Well,” Captain Styles started. “I had planned on stowing away for a bit longer, but my hope was for your ship to get further out to sea where I could sneak out at night and steal some more appropriate clothes. I _had_ been planning on being put to work and blending in with the crew for a while so I could figure out who you were—”

“You’re telling me that the Captain Harry Styles himself snuck onto my ship alone? To what? Join my crew and gather my daily routine?”

“Think about it,” Captain Styles smiled as Louis stood him at the edge of the bed and reached up to push the rope over the bar at the ceiling. “You are _the_ Louis Tomlinson, captain of the _Black Dagger_. You’re the only one on these seas that is any competition for my crew. Now imagine the name and the stories I’d have if I had managed to take you down from the inside out. By myself. Without a crew.”

“Yeah, well it didn’t quite work out, did it?” Louis pointed out with a small smile, pausing to gauge the look on Styles’ face.

“To my credit though,” Captain Styles said as Louis tugged on the rope so his arms came just above his head. “I had no idea you’d be so pretty.”

“Pretty?” Louis asked incredulously. He was standing right in front of Captain Styles, less than a foot from his face. The rope in his hand came to a stop as he looked up at him curiously. Captain Styles’ arms hung right above their heads, heavy and slack, but Louis didn’t notice the weight in his hand.

Captain Styles was looking down at him.

“Do you not know? Does no one ever tell you?”

Louis’ eyebrows twitched and he didn’t know what to say. “I— They usually only see the tattoos. Or the scar.”

“The scar,” Styles’ smiled. “The infamous sodomite scar. The S in the circle. Tell me, _Louis,_ are you actually a sodomite or is it just an S?”

Louis’ voice wavered as he carefully answered, “It will never be just an S.”

Captain Styles’ smile warmed at that. And then grew wicked. Playful. “So then why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Why would I kiss you?”

“Because at least if you’re going to kill me at the end of this—” Captain Styles paused. His eyes seemed to darken, the green in them turning into forests, into vines that Louis couldn’t escape. His canines seemed to shine. And then he struck down his hands so he caught the back of Louis’ neck with the rope around his wrists and tugged him in closer, so their faces almost touched, and so Louis couldn’t pull away— “You might as well have some fun first.”

Louis’ chest tightened. His heart thudded and went white hot. Like a knife had been struck through his throat, searing heat washing over his body as he started to bleed out. Captain Styles didn’t have a knife but he had words and those eyes and that smile, and it was the most disarming thing Louis had ever encountered.

He tried to catch his breath without Captain Styles feeling it. They were close enough to taste the ocean spray on each other’s lips. And Louis wanted it, it was intoxicating to be caught off guard by someone who might actually beat him. Who might actually be his equal.

But to give himself away so easily would be suicide. Captain Styles had been too forthcoming, and after all, he was known as _the fox of the seas_. Sly and slippery and thinking ahead as much as Louis did. Captain Harry Styles didn’t win battles with pure brute. He did so with wit and charm and everything he was being right now.

“I know what you’re doing,” Louis murmured back, eyes like darts. Trying to keep the thudding in his chest quiet. “No way to kill me if I don’t take these ropes off.”

“I don’t need these ropes off to kill you,” Captain Styles whispered. His forearms were warm around Louis’ neck.

“And yet,” Louis smirked. Then he yanked on the rope behind Captain Styles’ back with a crack and shot his arms high above his head. High enough for his fingers to catch the beam that the rope was around, and for his toes to barely be touching the ground. He let out a soft whimper.  
  


Louis tied a knot in the rope and stood back to take his creation in. Styles was like a chiaroscuro painting, writhing from the ceiling. His bare chest the only bright thing in the mahogany room, glowing in the square of sun streaming through the window. His skin almost looked wet, golden and awash with beads of sweat. From the heat outside or the heat under Louis’ skin, he didn’t want to guess.

It was difficult not to stare, but Louis let himself do it because Captain Styles’ eyes were closed. His head was tilted back so his hair fell past his shoulders. And it was obscene, the long hair and the floating remains of his shirt. They hung over his body like water over rocks, because where his shirt was silk and ruffled, his arms and his chest were sharp, carved.

Eventually, Captain Styles seemed to gather himself and he pulled forward his head so Louis could see his eyes.

They were glassy.

“How long am I to stay like this?” he asked, voice gravelly.

“Until you behave.” 

Louis took delight in saying it. He could be just as much a nuisance as Captain Styles.

But despite his writhing, the water in his eyes and the red in his cheeks, Styles was still quick on his feet. He grinned. “Guess we’ll be spending forever together, then.”

Louis’ eyebrow twitched and he needed to come up with something.

“You can last that long, huh?”

He didn’t hide his smirk, because two could play at this game.

“I’ll let you find out how long I can last if you want,” Captain Styles suggested, swinging a little from the beam.

Louis rolled his eyes and turned from him. He couldn’t stand to look at him any longer, it was frustrating. For his mind as much as his trousers. And there was no guarantee that he meant any of what he was saying; for all Louis knew, Styles could be simply playing with him. He could be playing into Louis’ proclivities when he himself did not have them. All to get what he wanted, to win. 

So Louis busied himself with the maps on his desk, collecting them in a pile to shove into their box and then in his bottom drawer — the one with the lock. He tried to ignore the eyes on his back as he locked them away but it was hard. The air between them was static, tangible. Louis swore he could feel every dust particle that floated between them. It made the room heavy, like he could taste the must that collected at the edges of the windows. It was almost suffocating.

So as he clicked the drawer shut, Louis stood and spun on his heel, and then announced, “I shan’t be returning until it’s dark. If I so much as see a loose thread in that rope, you’re dead, Captain Styles.”

“I promise,” he gleamed back sweetly. “If you can promise me one thing in return.”

Louis looked at him expectantly.

“Call me Harry.”

“Harry?”

“What?” he asked innocently. “Like you said, it’s not as though I’m exactly a captain in this circumstance.”

Louis mulled over that thoughtfully as he made his way to the door outside, bouncing his keys in his hand. Because Harry Styles wasn’t much of a captain without a ship or crew, with his wrists tied to a bed frame. But to call him by his Christian name was so familiar, so friendly.

Louis could go as far to say he respected the man, but that was as far as it went. They weren’t friends.

Louis hovered for a moment with his hand on the door handle before he finally turned and said, “I’ll think about it, Styles.”

And then he left.

* * *

The lick of ocean spray was a cool, fresh welcome. And the sounds of his crew working away calmed Louis’ beating heart. No one was looking at him with suspicion.

He took a moment and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his cheeks, listening out for the familiar wash of waves at the bow of the ship, the whip of sails. And then he took a single breath and put a confident smile on his face, and hopped up the stairs to the quarter deck.

Liam was leaning against the helm, one arm on one of the wheel’s handles and the other adjusting his spectacles. When he saw Louis skip up the last step, he smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“You’re alive,” he grinned, shifting against the ship’s wheel, making sure it didn’t spin on its own.

“And you’re steering?” Louis asked, bemused. “That’s not like you.”

“Niall’s fixing his leg.”

“Ah,” Louis breathed as he came to stand at the bannister that overlooked the main deck. Below, pirates were calmly going about their day, scrubbing floors, tying ropes, adjusting the rigging. He turned back to Liam so the small of his back leant up against the wooden rail and crossed his arms. “Everyone behave below deck, then?”

“As much as a group of pirates can behave,” Liam grinned. “Though Tavis got a bloodied nose, I think he stuck his head out as you stood on the hatch or something. I didn’t quite see.”

Louis twisted his lips thoughtfully, giving himself enough time to think of something natural to say. 

“Bit of unfortunate timing, remind me to ration him seconds tonight.”

“Aye,” Liam answered lightly.

Niall came out then. They heard him before they saw him, the familiar thud-crack-thud of his boot and his wooden leg hitting the deck as he walked out of the navigation room.

“Morning Cap!” Niall sung brightly, face lighting up at the exact same time the sun hit it. 

“Morning Ni,” Louis smiled back. For being the slowest on board now, Niall never seemed to let his lameness get him down. In fact, it only seemed to come up when he was grizzling about having to do extra work.

“I heard you dropped our visitor overboard this morning,” he continued, making his way to take the wheel from Liam. “How bloody boring!”

Louis chuckled to himself and replied, “Well, he was a very boring man in the end. Bit of a waste, really.”

“Didn’t seem dressed that way. Who was he?”

“Just some smarmy landsman, came onboard as a dare.”

“A dare?” Liam asked. “Bloody hell, the balls on him.”

“Well he’s quite done with now,” Louis replied, turning back to look over his crew. He was quite done with the topic, and out of everyone on board, he hated lying to Liam and Niall most. Still, they’d have his head if they knew he’d left Captain Harry Styles alone in his room. “How’s our course looking?”

He glanced up to Tavis, their barrelman, high up in the crow’s nest. He was merely a silhouette against the sky, but Louis could still make out the spyglass held to his eye.

“All clear so far, a few ships here and there by no one that would attempt to take us. Should be out of the islands in two days.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way for the month it’ll take us to get to Senegal then, for once I’d like a trip without any more hassles.”

“Better hope for a miracle then, Cap,” Niall teased.

“You bloody bet,” Louis sighed, digging his nails into the bannister. “You bloody bet.”

* * *

The day dragged on.

Mostly because Louis couldn’t resign himself to his quarters to put his nose in a good book, and if he was going to stay on deck without suspicion, he needed to look busy. 

So he spent most of it in the navigation room, doing his least favourite thing in the world.

Cleaning.

The place didn’t even need it, Niall and Liam were fairly organized chaps, but the shelves of scrolled maps could at least do with a dusting. He pulled them all out one by one and took the time to unravel them, study them and burn their marks into his mind before placing them back on the shelves. He even found a few illustrations of sea monsters he’d never taken the time to notice before, krakens and serpents and sea chimeras. By the time he was finished, every map was in exact alphabetical order and perfectly lined up so none stuck out more than the other.

Niall would think he’d gone mad once he saw it. So just for good measure, Louis pressed a few scrolls towards the back of the shelf. So it was at least look a little more messy, a little more Louis.

Dinner was called just as the sky began to turn orange and Louis found himself thanking a god he didn’t believe in. Because dinner meant sundown and sundown meant he could go back to his quarters without giving Harry Styles the satisfaction of knowing Louis couldn’t keep away.

He forced himself to eat slowly, and to sit with the injured Tavis so he could ensure he had his extra rations and enough attention to not question why Louis had stood on his face in the first place. It gave him guise to shove extra food on his own plate without questions too. 

When everyone else was finished and had moved on to beer and storytelling, Louis snuck away with his half-eaten plate. He slunk between rowdy men and the few spindly kids to the stairs to above deck, to the quiet hush of blackened waves beneath the night sky. There were still men milling about up top, keeping watch of the open sea, but they wouldn’t pay him any mind. It wouldn’t be the first time Louis had chosen to finish his dinner in his room.

He made his way into the quarter gallery at the back of the boat, making sure he kept his head up and his manner collected as he strode past the quartermaster’s room and to his own door.

His heart was suddenly racing.

And he couldn’t quite get the door open fast enough. 

Louis’ hand almost trembled as he shoved his key into the lock and turned it till it clicked. It definitely trembled as he turned the handle.

Louis pushed the door open. And he was met with darkness.

Harry was there, he could hear his feet padding against the ground and his quiet breathing. But it was too dark to see particularly well. To see if he was still tied up or if he was simply pretending.

Louis cursed himself out for not bringing a lamp. He’d have to light the one at his bedside and hope that Harry didn’t jump him. 

“Styles?” Louis carefully whispered as he turned and locked the door behind him.

“Mm,” came the quiet response.

“Are you still tied up?”

“Mm.”

“...Can you talk?”

“Mhm.”

Louis rolled his eyes. Harry Styles was a very frustrating person. 

Carefully Louis placed the plate on his bedside table and pulled out the sword from the sheath on his hip. God forbid he trust whatever Harry had to say. If he was going to be jumped, then he’d at least be prepared.

“I’m going to light some candles,” Louis stated. “Don’t move.”

“Mm.”

Louis picked up a flintlock from its home on his bedside table, next to where he’d put the plate. It was an old broken pistol, modified to light tinder instead of bullets, and it was a bit finicky but it was the best thing around for creating flames. Louis placed a bit of fluffy wire wool between the flint and the frizzen and then pulled the trigger. Immediately, the flint smacked forwards into the metal of the frizzen and lit the wire into a tiny, embering, glow. He blew on it until it brightened and caught a proper flame.

Louis looked up and could just make out the frame of Harry’s body at the end of the bed. It was still too hard to see if the ropes still had him though.

Louis kept his sword in his hand as he lit the lamp next to his bed, and then the candles hanging from the middle of his ceiling. Slowly, the room flickered brighter in the soft candle light and Louis could finally see Harry.

He was still tied up for sure. 

Harry’s wrists strained against the rope as he stood there, leaning against one of the bed posts. His head was drooped forwards, between his arms, and he had one leg propped up against the edge of Louis’ bed.

“What… are you doing?” Louis asked, looking at the awkward angle of his leg.

“I’m— I’m trying to take the weight off of a leg at a time so I can try to rest them.” His voice came out gravelly, almost haggard.

“Oh,” Louis breathed.

“Louis?” Harry asked.

“Yeah?”

“I think my bravado got the best of me,” he admitted. “I didn’t think about food or drink or getting to the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Louis breathed. Again. He’d brought food, but he hadn’t considered that Captain Harry Styles might have actually pissed himself in his room. “Did you…?”

Harry halfheartedly shook his head. “But can you… Might I please use the lavatory?”

“Lavatory? Where are we, England?” Louis quipped, trying to crack a joke.

Harry didn’t laugh.

So Louis took a step forward and gave in. “Yeah, sure. But I’m coming with you.”

Louis had hoped he’d make some sort of lewd joke at that, but Harry just quietly waited for him sheath his blade and untie the rope. Which meant that either Harry was about to pull something else out of his metaphorical sleeve, or Louis had left him in a terrible state.

Louis got the rope untied from his bed so Harry could drop his arms.

He winced.

It made Louis freeze and look over. “What is it?”

Harry gave him a grim smile. “Rope burn.”

“Shit. Sorry,” Louis admitted. It came out of him too quickly, too easily.

“I would have done the same to you,” Harry replied, his smile growing a little now that he could carefully keep his hands still.

“You would?” Louis asked, pulling out the remainder of the rope and being careful not to pull on Harry’s hands.

“Of course,” Harry thought aloud with a wry smile. “Capturing the great Louis Tomlinson? I’d be a lunatic to simply kill him.”

“And why’s that?” Louis asked as he finally pulled free the last of the rope.

“We might captain rival ships but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect you.”

“So you wouldn’t kill me because you respect me?”

“Not that simply put, no. But there’s not many men in this world I respect, you and me, we’re quite alike. We have the same goals. And I’d take up any opportunity to get inside your mind, see the world through your eyes. I told you, I’m a fan.”

“Uh huh,” Louis replied, entirely in disbelief. “I just have one issue with that, Styles.”

“Mm?”

“This morning you told me that you wanted to learn about me so you could take me down alone.”

“Weeell,” Harry crooned, voice high and guilty.

“I would do the same though,” Louis grinned.

Louis led them to the tiny bathroom just off of his room. He was the only one on board that got his own plumbing, and he was bloody grateful for that fact that night. 

Louis expected it to be more awkward than it was, him having to watch Harry use the toilet, but Harry didn’t seem to pay any mind to any boundaries. He was too distracted by the burning of his wrists, because he went to untie his trousers and couldn’t, the rope rubbed the wrong way, so through gritted teeth he turned to Louis and painfully asked, “Can you untie me?”

Louis scoffed at him and rolled his eyes, but the rope burns were of his own creation, so he supposed he owed him.

Louis reluctantly raised his eyebrows and sighed, “Alright, but no funny business.”

Harry grinned down at him as he kneeled. “What, no jokes about you finally getting my trousers off?”

“Exactly,” Louis said flatly as he fiddled with the strings on Harry’s trousers, glad that the low light would save the red in his cheeks from being seen.

Of course, with Harry Styles being fucking Harry Styles, everything had to be more difficult than necessary. 

He’d bloody well double knotted the ties.

Louis bit his lip as he concentrated on untying them, and ordinarily, it wouldn’t be difficult. A simple double knot wouldn’t be fucking difficult. But this knot was attached to the trousers that were surrounding Captain Harry Styles’ crotch and that made Louis fumbly. It made him all too aware that with one wrong move, he’d have Harry in his ear making quips and jokes about Louis being good with his hands.

So it took longer than expected.

“Having fun down there?” Harry asked.

Louis glanced up at him and to find him smirking. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. It was the sight of Harry Styles’ pretty, boyish face from this angle. From this angle that Louis hadn’t been in since he’d found himself drunk on the beaches of Madagascar almost a year earlier after stumbling there with a delicious man from one of the local taverns.

“Tremendous fun,” Louis tried to say sarcastically. But his voice cracked and gave him away.

Harry tittered.

Louis cleared his throat and yanked at the ties so they pulled right open, and so Harry’s hips pulled forward a little too.

“Right, done,” Louis said firmly. “Now piss.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Harry grinned.

As Louis stood there, leaning against the wall while Harry relieved himself, he tried not to look. No, he _made sure_ he didn’t look. He kept his eyes firmly on Harry’s face, watching him with his arms folded and head slightly tipped back so he at least looked bored. So Harry wouldn’t guess that his heart was thrumming. So that he wouldn’t be given away anymore than he already was.

It was fucking difficult, but Louis did it. Even when Harry wiggled his eyebrows at him and suggestively let his eyes wander to where his hands were probably trying to hold himself without rubbing against his restraints.

When he’d done, Harry _thankfully_ managed to tuck himself away on his own. But he still turned to Louis and asked him to tie him back up.

Louis kept his face emotionless as he stood away from the wall and grabbed the ties without looking. He was _not_ going to look. He grabbed a tie in each hand and kept his eyes on Harry’s. He tugged them harshly and said as he went, “This is the only time I’m doing this.”

Harry didn’t look convinced. 

Louis ignored him and led them back to the main room. He patted the bed for Harry to sit down and then, when he did, he put his hands on his hips and asked, “Are you hungry or do you want to change your restraints first?”

“Um,” Harry thought out loud, looking down at his wrists. Louis could see how red they were now, how raw. “They hurt but I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Bloody hell,” Louis cursed lightly, already making his way over to the plate he’d left on his bedside table. “No wonder you were so quiet when I came in.”

“Mm,” Harry hummed noncommittally.

Louis sat down on the bed next to Harry and held the plate up for him, forgetting for a split second that his hands were in a fairly precarious state.

“Oh. I should change your ties first, really.”

Harry shook his head. “It hurts to move them, no restraint is going to help yet.”

“Well I’m not taking them off you altogether.”

“Then,” Harry breathed, eyes turning to slits, “you’re going to have to feed me.”

“I’m—” Louis went to protest, but really, what choice did he have. He could just throw the food on the ground and let Harry eat like a dog. It was what he deserved for coming aboard so theatrically. But he was also Harry Styles. There was some sort of comradery underlying all of this. It was hard to pinpoint but he knew Harry felt it too, he’d just said how he respected Louis’ gig. Louis wasn’t here to humiliate him, he was here to one up him.

There was no game in cowardice.

“Fine,” Louis conceded, “but only tonight.”

Harry nodded stoutly.

And so Louis fed him. One small mouthful at a time. And it really wasn’t all that productive to give him such small bits, but Harry ate tongue-first. He always seemed to lay his tongue flat for Louis to place a slice of pork or potato onto. And it was simply fascinating. Harry seemed to do everything so openly, so widely. So showy.

“What?” Harry grinned, bemused, as he caught Louis’ eyes hovering over his open mouth.

“Nothing,” Louis said quietly. It felt like his eyes gave him away.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m trying to feed you.”

“Yeah, but you’re staring at my mouth.”

“I’m looking at where I’m aiming this fork so I don’t fucking stab you.”

“Uh huh,” Harry replied, utterly unconvinced. “I need a drink though, I’m parched and this meat is a tad dry.”

Flatly, Louis replied, “I’ll send the chef your compliments.”

“Please do,” Harry smiled. “After water though.”

“Not beer?”

“I hate beer.”

Louis made a thoughtful face and then asked, “Rum?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No,” Louis replied, stabbing a piece of carrot on the plate in his lap. “Just wondering.”

“What do you prefer?”

“I’m easy either way.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“What for?”

“For when I pull off my plan and take off your head,” Harry grinned.

“Can’t take my head off if you don’t eat, Styles,” Louis replied. Then he pushed a forkful of food into his mouth before he could say anything else. As Harry chewed, Louis set down the plate and pulled a flask from his hip. It was a small metal thing, bound in black leather with a JM branded on the front. It stood for Jules Mercury, his alias on land. He popped off the lid and waited for Harry to finish.

He was a fucking slow eater.

Louis was grinning by the time Harry finished. They’d been watching each other’s eyes as Harry chewed and Louis waited, and it threw Louis off balance. It was terribly easy to be around Harry when they weren’t bickering at each other.

As Harry finally swallowed and grinned back at him, Louis brought the flask to Harry’s lips and tipped it carefully into his mouth. Harry’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he made grateful little murmuring sounds too. 

It made Louis wish his flask was bigger. That he could do this for longer.

But it wasn’t, and the water ran out, and Harry made no effort to hide the way his tongue ever so slightly grazed the lip of the flask for any last drops.

“More after I fix you up,” Louis said, screwing the lid back on it and tossing the thing onto his bed.

“Yes Sir.”

“And stay there while I get some new restraints, okay?” Louis said pointedly. “I shan’t need to remind you that you have rope burn and I have several knives on my body.”

“How many?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t need to know that,” he replied, standing up. “Not now that I know about your plan.”

“Damn,” Harry grinned.

Louis made his way to a chest in the corner of the room and his heart dropped as he realised what he was about to open. He knew already that Harry was going to make some untoward remark. And he knew that it would be terrible because what Harry would comment would most definitely be correct.

But there was no choice as far as Harry’s wrists were concerned. It was either be embarrassed or let Harry go free. There was always the option to just leave him as is, to hang him back up and wait for the rope to burn its way to his bones, but Louis didn’t consider it.

So he held his breath and went for the chest.

It was the size of a hog and filled with coats and shirts and furs and the sort of things that Louis didn’t wear very often. This was his chest of things that he only wore for himself, on the nights that he drunkenly lazed about by himself or with Liam. They’d put on the feathers and the skins and let themselves mess around without caring about infamy and games and the celebrity they had created for themselves.

But there weren’t just fine clothes in there. There were harnesses and leather straps and the sort of things Louis didn’t even let Liam touch. They were for him and his suitors, his night time companions. Amongst his belongings were a pair of leather cuffs, with buckles and actual locks.

Louis rummaged through his chest until he found them right at the very bottom, under a cheetah skin coat. And very timidly, he pulled them out.

“These should be kinder to your wrists,” he offered, not quite turning to Harry. Fearful of his expression.

Of-fucking-course, Harry was grinning from ear to ear, so wide Louis could hear it punctuate his chuckle as he said, “No wonder I’ve been hanging here all day, it seems our deadly pirate captain has a penchant for being tied up.”

Louis was quick with his reply, and it came out a little too sharply, too insecure. “You don’t know why I have these.” He collected himself and then added, a little more calmly, “And need I remind you that if it weren’t for these, you would be quickly on your way to losing your hands.”

“Alright,” Harry conceded. Though he bit his lip.

Louis quickly snagged a scrap of cloth and a bottle of rum from his desk. Then he walked to his dresser and pulled a shirt from a drawer, it was white and linen and had two beaded tassels from the collar.

“Give me your hands,” Louis instructed, sitting back down next to Harry. 

Harry offered up his wrists and watched intently as Louis started to undo the knot between them.

Louis was intently watching Harry’s fingers as he did it. Every finger had a ring on it, some gold, some silver, but all had the dullness of jewellery that had been worn in the ocean for years. One was of a lion, sapphire between its teeth. The creases in its mane had patinated.

Louis wondered how they had marked Harry’s skin, whether he had bright white lines where the sun hadn’t touched his knuckles, or if he had dark marks where the metal had painted him. 

Harry was perfectly silent until Louis started to unwind the rope from his right wrist. It was only then that he winced and sucked in a sharp breath of air.

“Sorry,” Louis murmured out of instinct. He used to help his crewmates with rope burn all the time before he was a captain, before he was even quartermaster. This was back when he, as the smallest, slightest man onboard, was merely a rigger on his first pirate ship.

“S’fine,” Harry hissed. “Keep going.”

So Louis did, because he knew that the only way to do this was to do it swiftly. As the rope fell from Harry’s wrists, red marks took their place. The skin there looked pink and juicy in the places where Harry had rested most of his weight, on the edges of his wrists where the delicate end of his ulna protruded.

“Are you ready for the worst bit?” Louis asked, looking up at Harry.

He nodded. “Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Louis tipped the rum into the cloth and then grabbed the fleshy part of Harry’s palm. Carefully, he dabbed the cloth to Harry’s wrist.

Harry instantly flinched and pulled away without realising, a gasp leaving his lips. But he never got away entirely, Louis was able to latch onto his hand and keep at his cleaning. With each careful press, Harry’s hand began to shake a little more. His breath got heavier too.

But he managed.

When Louis finished, he gave Harry’s palm a gentle stroke of his thumb and looked up at him. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed through a pained smile.

“I don’t suppose you’ll cope then with a new shirt instead of these tatters?”

“You couldn’t—” Harry took a sharp breath— “You couldn’t have asked _before_ you did that?”

Louis let out a small grin. “You couldn’t have asked before you snuck onto my ship to kill me?”

Harry scrunched up his nose.

Which made Louis smile wider.

“Come on then, you big baby,” Louis said, lifting the new shirt into his lap.

Harry tried to shimmy off the sleeves of his shirt but it was difficult for him, any time his wrists touched the fabric he had to stop and suck in air between his teeth.

“Can you?” Harry eventually breathed.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Louis said innocently, though he grinned.

He pulled out a dagger, this one from behind his sword sheath, and quickly slit exact lines up Harry’s sleeves. The shirt fell to the bed in glossy streams.

Harry had tattoos.

Louis already knew that, but he didn’t know just how many. He’d heard of the infamous moth, the swallows, and even the anchor that covered the scar on his wrist. But the pictures that covered the rest of his arms were more of a mystery.

There was one in particular that stood out.

Louis let his eyes wander to it as he stood and unfolded the new shirt. When he saw it, he had to do a double take. It sent a peculiar shiver through his skin.

“You’ve got—” Louis cleared his throat— “a rose?”

Harry looked down at himself like this was news to him. “Uh, yeah?”

“Why’d you get it there?” Louis asked. It was just below the crook of his elbow.

Harry shrugged. “It’s where I had room?”

His eyes slid back to Louis and he looked rather confused.

“Huh,” Louis breathed.

“Why?”

“Um,” Louis started, motioning for Harry to raise his hands so he could put the shirt on him. He waited for Harry’s eyes to be covered by the shirt before he finally had the balls to answer.

“I’ve got a dagger in the same place.”

“A dagger?” Harry smiled as his head finally came back into view, the shirt falling into place.

“Mm, it was one of the first I got.”

“And to think that us men of the sea usually get them tattooed together. Why just a dagger?”

“Why just a rose?” Louis countered. He wasn’t going to give anything about himself away if Harry didn’t do it first.

“I made a promise to myself to stay a merciful.”

Louis nodded.

“Now you answer,” Harry said.

“I made a promise to never let myself be taken advantage of again.”

“Again?”

Louis didn’t answer him. He wasn’t going to detail what it was like to almost die at the hands of his peers on that beach in Plymouth. He’d say nothing of the scheme, nothing of the broken wine bottle with his name on it.

“Give me your wrists, Styles,” Louis said instead.

Harry did as he was told, raised both his wrists, but his eyes were piercing as he did it.

It was quiet between them as Louis carefully wrapped the leather cuffs around Harry’s wrists. They sat further towards Harry’s elbows so the burn against his ulna wasn’t touched. As Louis buckled the cuff on the right, thoughts of that night in Plymouth crept into his mind. And he didn’t like it, so he asked Harry a question.

“Why did you become a pirate?”

Harry’s eyes glanced up from where they were firmly attached to his wrists. When he answered, his voice was low. Thoughtful.

“It wasn’t a choice.”

“No?” Louis asked, moving on to buckle the left cuff.

“No.”

Louis slowed his hands and looked back up at Harry’s face. His eyes were dark and round.

“I was sold as a slave.”

“You? A slave?” Louis knitted his eyebrows together.

“I was on my grand tour of the continent and my bear-leader discovered me with a local boy, so he took it upon himself to sell me off and tell my parents that I had died of plague.”

“Plague?” Louis asked, voice raising an octave.

“Took me six years to find that out, too.”

“How did you find out?”

“I came across him on a naval ship we took. He told me and then I slit his throat.”

“I thought you were a merciful captain,” Louis mused as he clicked the locks on each buckle shut.

“This was before I got the tattoo.”

Louis hummed thoughtfully as he let his fingers still over the locks, then he looked up at Harry and breathed, "And so you truly like men?"

"Yes."

"Why have I never heard stories about you then?" 

Harry paused, took a breath. "I don't have the scars, I suppose."

"Does your crew know?"

Harry chuckled to himself. "They could deduce it if they tried. I’ve always wondered though, Louis, how was it that you became captain of your ship? Everyone knows of your sway, and yet they still flock to join your crew.”

Louis looked up at him thoughtfully, and then his narrowed his eyes. Because Harry Styles was so full of questions, and even though Louis was too, he was not as forthcoming about the fact that this was all a ruse to divulge each other’s weaknesses. 

“That’s another story for another day,” Louis replied. “For now, stay here. I need a strap to tie you to this post.”

He knocked the bedpost to his left as he stood.

And Harry frowned.

“After I tell you my own secrets, you’re still going to tie me up?”

“Of course I am, Styles. I don’t know if half of what you’ve said is true,” Louis replied matter of factly as he retrieved a thin belt from his drawer. Though it was shorter than his length of rope, it would still give Harry half a metre or so of movement, and unlike rope, he could lock a belt. He could put a lock through the buckle and one of the eyelets. Harry couldn’t simply reach over and untie it in the middle of the night. 

“And besides,” he said, coming back over to Harry. “Would you not do the same?”

Harry thought over this for a moment, while Louis looped the belt between his cuffs and the bedpost and then he nodded and concluded, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Well then, we’re agreed,” Louis smiled, hooking the key to his necklace before grabbing a pillow from the head of his bed and tossing it to Harry. “You’ll stay right where you are until I’m done with you.”

“Done with me?” Harry grinned. “What are you going to do with me? You already know my plan.”

“I’ll decide that later.”

“What are you deciding? Does it involve bedding me?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Must everything be about sex?”

“Must it not? You haven’t answered my question.”

Louis looked thoughtfully out the window, at the black sea and the black sky, and tried his best to look like he was thinking of something smart, something witty to say. But truth be told, he couldn’t answer Harry’s question. He didn’t know what he would do with him. And he didn’t know why he would keep Harry around at all, only that he wanted to.


	3. SAPPHIRE

**SAPPHIRE**

Louis finally woke to the sound of footsteps. They were upstairs, in the navigation room.

And that meant he had slept in.

Despite that, his sleep had been terrible. Because, preposterously, Harry had taken up his bed and Louis, in his need to not have him attempt to kill him or mount him in the night, had slept at his desk. He hadn’t wanted to be the first to fall asleep so he made himself look busy with books and his logs, but it had seemed Harry hadn’t wanted to sleep first either because he kept pestering Louis with questions. Questions that Louis refused to answer without a shot of rum.

It was a blessing in disguise to produce that bottle of rum Louis kept in his desk, because when Harry saw Louis take a sip when he asked about how long he’d been looking for Swan’s maps, he asked to have a sip to. This made it easy for Harry to be pulled into sleep. And it made Louis’ hard, leather bound chair, just about comfortable enough to sleep in. It made it just a little more bearable to crook his neck down onto the backs of his arms.

However, Louis’ rum-laced sleep did not come without a few lulling moments where he mistook Harry’s rhythmic breathing for something of a siren song. It made his sleep heavy, dark, like a storm was brewing. Like he was on the very bottom of the ocean floor, where not even the pink rays of morning sun could easily wake him.

The footsteps upstairs were Niall’s, his wooden leg clicking every time he took a step, and that meant he was already performing his duties. He was probably discussing wind directions this time of year with Liam and how to get to Senegal fastest, or talking with Tavis about ships they’d likely encounter on the way.

Louis wasn’t worried about sleeping late though, it was something his crew expected. It was often that he stayed up until the moon was high and then slept until the sun was too.

Though usually it was because he felt most at ease in the comfort of night, and not because he was trying to avoid a hostage hooked to his bed.

Louis groggily sat up from where his cheek had been pressed to his desk and peeled a loose leaf of paper from his face. As he wiped his eyes, the ocean slowly came into focus through his window. It was fluffy and white, a long trail where the ship had split through gentle waves.

“You didn’t join me,” came a voice from behind him. It was, of course, Harry. Louis spun around to find him leaning up against the bedpost, sitting on his knees, with his eyes intently on him. 

“I don’t share beds with strangers,” Louis replied. His voice was still weighted with sleep.

“Well can I share something with you?” Harry asked, face open and relaxed.

Louis waited for whatever Harry was about to spout out as he stood and pulled on his jacket. It was too hot for it, but it gave him something to do.

Harry watched him quietly, eyes catching on the sleeves that Louis tugged on, with a faintly interested look. Eventually, he looked back up to Louis’ face and smiled. “You have ink on your cheek.”

Louis paused and looked at Harry, and then instinctively drew a hand to his right cheek.

“The other side,” Harry added, smile growing as Louis started rubbing at his left cheek.

And then he slightly nodded upwards and said, “No, higher. No, almost. Almost.”

Louis sighed and strode over to him. “You just bloody get it.”

He bent his face down so Harry could lick his thumb and rub it against Louis’ cheek. And neither seemed to think much of it, of the familial space between them, because Louis had already fed Harry, had tended to his wounds. He’d already dressed and undressed him.

“How are your wrists?” Louis asked as Harry’s lips tersed in his effort to remove the ink. 

Harry’s eyes flicked up to Louis’ as he softly answered, “Tender.”

Then he looked back to the mark on Louis’ cheeks and let his smile grow. Offhandedly, he added, “Though these restraints are alright, I’d fair better with them off.”

“I’d sooner be keelhauled than let that happen,” Louis grinned.

“It was worth a try,” Harry shrugged before he took away his hand and looked back up to Louis’ eyes. “Done. Gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Louis replied as he stood back up and started making his way to the door. “Now be quiet. I’ll bring you breakfast when I return, I trust you’ll still be tied up then.”

“I’ll promise no such thing,” Harry said with an innocent smile. “But I do promise to be waiting for you in bed.”

“You’re terrible,” Louis said flatly, though there was an inkling of an amused smile on the corner of his lips.

As Louis swung the door open and left, Harry murmured, “And you are not.”

Louis paused on the other side of the door, hand resting against the carved wood. His head resting against his hand. To an outsider, it would have looked as though he were ruminating on what Harry had just uttered, sitting on the four words he had spilled at Louis’ heels. But Louis wasn’t. He hadn’t even heard him. Rather, his eyes were cast on the key in his other hand. It was still in the keyhole of the door, the other keys jangled on the ring he kept them on.

He was trying to remember if he’d left the door unlocked the night before.

* * *

Louis returned to his quarters an hour later.

It felt too soon and yet far too late.

He wanted to busy himself on deck, so that his crew would see his expression was still his own, that he was unaffected and unlying and that everything was still as per usual. But they were all used to a captain that retreated to his room to read when it was quiet. And outside, it was quiet.

The ocean had been clear all night, no ships had caught their tail as they sailed through the Carribean islands, so Niall had taken to preoccupying himself with one hand on the ship’s wheel and one around the spine of a book. Liam was below deck, out of the sun, telling stories to Ernest and the rest of the young powder monkeys. They were gathered around him, listening to him spin tales of mermaids and selkies, eyes as wide as the apples in their mouths.

And so Louis had wandered around his ship aimlessly, looking for someone to bother that wasn’t tall and curly haired. He listened to one of Liam’s stories and then spent a long while at his perch against the rail of the quarter deck. It gave him time to mull over his thoughts as he watched ocean water wash past and the blinding glimmer of fresh sunlight through the sails. 

He didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of thinking he was in a rush to get back to him, but he didn’t want to arouse suspicion from his shipmates. 

Niall had already been peering at him over his book.

“You can take over steering if you’re so keen to spend the day up here,” he commented humorously when Louis hadn’t moved in twenty minutes.

Louis flinched at his words, all too aware that he wasn’t free to do as he wanted while he had Harry tied up in his room. Funny that, that Louis should be the one to feel as though his hands were tied.

He came to the conclusion that it would be best to go back to his room.

First though, he made a stop to the galley. Because although Harry was a very pretty thorn in his side, he wasn’t about to make him starve more than necessary. He told Edmund, their cook, that he wanted to take some food to his room because he’d be skipping breakfast for the next few days.

“Is it a good book, then?” Edmund asked with an almost-toothless smile.

“Hm?” Louis hummed, head whipping up from where he’d been plucking himself some salted meats and fruit from storage.

“A good book? You always skip breakfast when you’ve got your head stuck in one.”

“Oh,” Louis breathed, slapping a smile on his face as he scooped up as many sugar canes as he could muster, tossing them into a cloth sack. “Yeah. It’s, uh, about Shakespeare.”

“You’re very lucky to be able to read, Cap. Might have to ask you to finally teach me when you get the chance, they must be worth something to keep so much of your attention.”

Louis was already halfway out the door when he called over his shoulder, “I’d be happy to pass on the favour!”

* * *

When Louis burst through the door to his quarters he was almost breathless, as though he had run there. He hadn’t, but his heart was a flutter because in his brisk walk, he had tried to look as busy as possible so he wouldn’t have to stop for anyone else to comment on his foraging of extra food. It had left him nervy.

Harry looked over at him curiously. He was lying on his back on Louis’ bed, hands on the quilt above his head.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“What?” Louis breathed, pushing his fringe out of his face as he collected himself and realised what it was that Harry was asking. “Oh, uh, no. Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing, you look flustered.”

“I’m not,” Louis replied, turning to lock the door behind him. “I was just avoiding suspicion.”

“Aren’t you good at that sort of thing?”

“Not when I have someone like you on my bed.”

“Oh,” Harry smirked. “ _ Someone like me _ , you say?”

“That’s not what I meant—” Louis started, but it was exactly what he meant. Whether he liked it or not, the discovery of Harry Styles on his bed would look exactly as Louis feared. Even his straight crew members would tell that Harry was a looker, and they’d assume. And they’d have Louis’ guts before he could protest.

He settled on berating Harry’s beauty with a smirk instead, “Do you really think you’re so worthy of my affection? You’re always so sure I’m bedazzled by you.”

“Are you not? As I recall, you’ve fed me and given me a bed and all I’ve done is been shirtless and tied up.”

“All you’ve done, Styles, is give me something of interest to prod at on our trip. When we’re not fighting or stealing, it is quite a boring thing, all this travelling.”

“And where is it that we’re travelling to, Louis?” Harry asked, starting to sit up.

“Se—” Louis started instinctually, before he caught himself. “Why do you want to know?”

“So I know how long it is before I’m unleashed, how far it is to one of Swan’s maps. And what’s that ‘Se’? Are we going to the Seychelles? Serbia? Senegal?”

“Guess,” Louis teased.

“Well Serbia’s landlocked, so it’s Senegal or the Seychelles for me. Senegal is closer.”

Louis said nothing.

Harry got this terrible, self-congratulatory grin on his face.

“So what’s that? A fortnight before I’m free? Before we’re rich!”

“What makes you think you’ll be rich or free in Senegal?” Louis replied incredulously.

Harry thought to himself and scrunched up his mouth. 

“I think you’ll come to let me free by then.”

“You sound so sure,” Louis replied, determined to take the conversation back into his control. He went over to Harry and tossed a parcel of salted beef and an apple into his lap. “What if I were to grow tired of you before then? What if I simply decided your pretty face bored me and I threw you overboard?”

“You think I’m pretty?” Harry asked, picking up the apple.

“So you keep telling me.”

“Do I? I don’t remember saying that,” Harry pondered mischievously. Then he took a bite out of the apple. Juice dripped down his thumb, to his wrist. Harry sucked the tip of his thumb and watched Louis as he did it.

“Whatever it is you think you’re doing to me,” Louis breathed lowly, lying, “it’s not working.”

Harry grinned up at him.

Louis wanted to kiss Harry’s dimples as much as he wanted to smack them.

* * *

Louis was not going to leave his room. He was _ not _ .

No matter how much Harry seemed to get satisfaction out of the fact that he stayed, he was not going to leave and try his luck at normalcy in front of his crew. Because Louis was good at acting when it came to people he didn’t mind pissing off, like loathsome dockmasters or tavern owners. There were no stakes there, he could have fun with it, act innocent. Act a different person. It was an entirely different game when it came to trying to act like  _ himself _ . If Niall or Edmund’s comments were anything to go by, the whole ship would be whispering if he went back out there for too long. 

So Louis spent the late morning at his desk and it just about made his neck crook after having spent the night there already, but it meant he could attempt to read and look busy without Harry being able to say it was him that Louis was focused on.

And yet, it was only Harry that he could think about.

As Louis tried to read a passage in his book about Shakespeare’s collection of sonnets, his mind was too distracted to take anything in. At first he’d been distracted by Harry’s crunching and the thought of his tongue on his thumb. Then he’d been distracted by the long silence that they fell into, because he could hear every time Harry shifted. And he could feel the pull to turn to see if Harry’s eyes were on him.

And now, he was distracted because Harry had finally found it in himself to spark up another conversation.

“Louis?”

Louis lifted his head at the sound and slowly turned his ear towards Harry, trying not to take his eyes away from his book.

“What is it you’re reading?”

Louis rubbed the corner of the page he was on, trying to pull the words into focus. The paper was soft, worn by hands that had come before his. “It’s about Shakespeare, stuff about his sonnets.”

“Shakespeare’s sonnets?” Harry asked lightly. He sounded interested.

Louis hummed. And he kept his eyes on the book. There was a dark mark at the top of the page, like a mite had been squashed there.

Harry was quiet for a moment. He shifted on the bed, there was a quiet creak as the belt around the bedpost pulled. Louis could already feel his grin before he finally spoke.

“Read me one.”

Louis finally turned his head. He couldn’t help it, because Harry was clearly about to play a joke on him or something. He looked at Harry over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Harry, who was sat on the very edge of the bed with his ankles tucked together, simply lifted his chin but softened his smirk. He looked like he was beckoning, wanting Louis to walk over and place his feet either side of Harry’s and tuck a finger under his jaw. He blinked once and said, “Sonnet number 18, is it in there?”

“18?”

Harry nodded, slowly and assured.

“And what treats am I in for if I am to read it aloud?” Louis asked, hesitant to give Harry more rope to choke him with.

“No treats,” Harry said evenly. “I just like that one.”

Louis turned back to his book and began flipping pages without thinking. There were snippets of sonnets dotted between paragraphs and Louis wasn’t even sure at first if he’d find it, but there, on page 48, was the text he was looking for.

He began reading, trying to keep his voice as open and clear as possible. The words were flowery and didn’t quite reveal any meaning at first.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May—”

Louis paused. He was caught off guard.

Because Harry had started reciting it alongside him. Their voices melded together as they hit the same syllables.

Harry didn’t pause with him though.

“And summer’s lease hath all too short a date,” Harry said easily, as though these words were something as known to him as breathing. “Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimmed.” 

Louis slowly turned to watch Harry as he continued. “And every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed.”

Harry finally took a breath. He was looking right at Louis.

And he was smiling.

Softly.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry eventually said, eyes secure, unmoving. Like a mast in a storm. “I can keep going if you like.”

Louis didn’t reply, though he did lower his book to the desk and lay an arm over the back of his chair so he could rest his chin on it.

So Harry kept going. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the bedpost as he finished the poem, and when he did and silence filled the room, Louis realised that he’d not heard a single thing he’d said. He’d been too busy laying in the gravel of Harry’s voice, too busy laying his ear on the warm stones of every word.

“What’s it mean?” Louis eventually asked as the silence between them quietened. 

Harry opened his eyes, blinking at Louis easily. The corner of his mouth slowly lifted into a small smile. “Shakespeare is comparing his lover, his  _ fair youth _ , to a summer’s day; but unlike a summer’s day, the things that make him wonderful aren’t fleeting. He’ll live forever in his poetry.” Harry looked out the window behind Louis. “Wouldn’t that be nice, to have a love that could live forever?”

“I… suppose,” Louis tentatively replied as he watched him curiously. 

Harry paid him no mind. He simply twisted his lips and played with the belt around the pole as he said, “The man he calls his  _ fair youth _ betrays him in the end.”

“How so?”

Harry glanced back at him. “Read the rest of it and find out.”

They fell into another silence as Louis turned back to his book and tried to read the pages and pages of poems, trying to understand what Harry was referring to. He tried to take in the plot and the metaphors and everything that Shakespere had intended. But still. He couldn’t. Instead, he was too focused on the words that weren’t there — the ones that Harry would have sketched in the margins of his own copy of such a book. He seemed like the type.

“How is it?” Harry asked after what had felt like an hour. Louis couldn’t be sure. Time was slippery when Louis felt watched.

And Harry had been watching him this entire time.

Unlike their silence before, this one was intended. Purposeful. It was Harry with his big green eyes staring right into Louis’ back, right into the fingers pressed to the leather of the book’s cover. It was the way he bit his lip as though he could peer close enough to see that Louis wasn’t reading at all.

Louis knew this because he would glance over occasionally, completely unable to relax enough to let himself get lost in those buttery pages. And he wanted to get lost.

“Um,” Louis finally replied, realising he’d been staring at an indent in the corner of a page for several minutes. It had looked like a small P and Louis had found himself wondering what it would have gone on to spell if it were in Harry’s handwriting. It seemed just as likely that he would have written  _ penis _ as he would  _ pretty _ .

“It’s a lot to take in,” Louis added once he’d pulled his eyes back to the lines that were actually printed.

“Aye, it takes a few times to get it, but you’re not slow.” He smiled so his teeth glinted. “I have faith in you, my darling  _ fair youth _ .”

Though the name caught Louis off guard, he was thankful at least that Harry’s quick tongue wasn’t pulling him apart too much.

In an effort to keep him from actually doing just that, Louis ignored his words and stood from his desk. He made his way to the shelves of books that lined the wall around the window. He spoke as he made a point of drawing his fingers along the spines. “You ought to have your own book to busy yourself, Styles. What do you like to read?”

“Romance.”

Louis paused and chuckled to himself. “That was a very quick answer. Unsurprising though.”

He glanced back to see Harry shrug. “I know what I like.”

“Try this then,” Louis replied, pulling a thin book out from his collection. It was bound in red leather and read  _ Willow’s Grace _ .

Louis tossed it to the bed, so the book bounced just to the right of Harry. He picked it up and drew a finger across its cover.

“What’s it about?” Harry asked.

It was about a nun named Willow who fell in love with another woman and was thereby accused of being a witch. When she’d been found out and sent to the stake, her lover, Grace, had saved her. And then they’d done what they’d always been warned not to, become witches.

He didn’t want to tell Harry in which ways he was and wasn’t like Willow, so he grinned and parroted what Harry had already said to him. “Read it and find out.”

And so they fell into a third silence, this one far less tense than the ones before. It was a long sigh, a breath of fresh air. Finally, Louis managed to read, if only a bit.

He made it until he’d found out that Shakespeare’s  _ fair youth _ had bedded a woman and that that was his betrayal. It was then that Louis’ mind started to again wander. Now, without Harry’s eyes on him, gauging the thoughts in his head by the terse muscles in his shoulders, he could think about the inevitable. The betrayal that was waiting for Harry or Louis, depending on whomever won this game of theirs. Though Harry was full of smiles and quick remarks, and Louis full of a desire to spend every waking moment in his presence, soaking in his sharp sunshine, it was all a game. Always had been. And it was a game that would only end in betrayal. Because one of them would indefinitely be the one to kill the other. There was no other way about it. There was no other ending to the tale of the stowaway captain with a plan on an enemy ship.

Before Louis cursed himself for enjoying the sharp tension between them, he told himself it wasn’t in fact a betrayal at all — not when they both knew it was to come. But still. That’s the way it felt, because there was already something between them. An everything and a nothing, the space between their bodies felt too close yet too familiar. Harry was his enemy and yet Louis felt comfort with him. Excitement and wit and sharpness too, but there was an underlying kinship. He felt it with Harry’s quick tongue, the smirk on his lips and the possible lies that spilled from them, though he felt it most with the quiet trust between them that they were definitely the same.

They were the same in the fact that given opposite circumstances, their play would look much the same. Harry would have tied Louis up instead of killing him. He would have tended to his wounds and fed him. He would have given him something to read. They both liked to play games of power and prowess, but it was all underlined with the knowledge that they respected each other. They were equals. Perhaps they weren’t enemies at all, merely competitors of the same breed.

And so Louis thought about Harry and his inevitable betrayal, and he thought about what it would be to give in. To have his way, his fun, with Harry simply because Harry had offered. And he’d had no real reason to turn him down.

If he were to kill Harry at the end of this, at least he would have the satisfaction of knowing exactly what it is that he’d killed. He wouldn’t be left to wonder which of Harry’s words were genuine and which were lies to get himself untied.

Louis felt like kicking himself though, because there was the very real possibility that Harry would take Louis’ advances as weakness, as giving in, and that they were as much of an opportunity to kill Louis as they were to have himself untied.

Harry had said he wouldn’t need to be untied to kill him, and Louis believed him.

There was a reason that Harry was his only real competitor.

The least he could do for now would be to play Harry at his own game, to find his own weak spots and understand how he could be manipulated into giving his neck up. To kiss and to cut.

He could have his cake and eat it too.

“Harry,” Louis said.

Harry shifted immediately. Louis could hear him drop his book to his side, then the gentle clunk as it fell from the bed to the floor.

“You said my name.”

“I did,” Louis replied as he turned to face Harry, telling himself to keep calm, collected. In control. “I wish to join in your game. You want to know me so you know my weaknesses, what do you say to me telling you if you tell me of yourself first? So we’re equal?”

“Um,” Harry started, crossing his legs. “I would say that’s a great idea. Only one problem, I’ve already told you more of me than you of yourself.”

Louis nodded. That was fair. But he didn’t quite play fair. “I know you were of enough wealth to do a grand tour, and that you were a slave before you were a pirate. Tell me why you didn’t go home after you were freed, and then I’ll tell you why I became a pirate.”

Harry squinted at him and thought for a moment before shrugging. “You drive a hard bargain, but I’m curious.”

“Go on then.”

“I will if you sleep here tonight.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I’m not begging.”

“Neither am I.” Louis said it flatly but there was a dash of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Harry looked at him, mouth slightly slack. Then his lips slightly puckered and he looked thoughtful, cogs turning like a machine.

Louis shuffled his chair around so he was completely facing Harry, knees far apart, and waited expectantly.

“Well,” Harry eventually conceded, shifting so his side was leant up against the bedpost that he was tied to. “My slave ship wasn’t even a pirate ship. But it was liberated by one. I was on a Portuguese ship that was boarded and taken by Captain Rueben, and it was very quickly that I learned that pirates were not quite what I’d imagined them to be.”

“What did you imagine them to be?”

“Unsavoury criminals who only plunder and take what doesn’t belong to them.”

“Are we not exactly that?”

“We are,” Harry chuckled, “but I learned that the English are just as much that as pirates are. Our king is just as much a thief and a criminal as every man I have shared a bunk with since I set sail. His laws are based on nothing but greed and fear. I would be hung for being a sodomite just as quickly as I would for being a pirate, but at least this way, I can live by my own laws before I get there.”

Louis felt a shiver through his spine. It was the exact sentiment he had lived by for the last ten years. 

“So how did you become a pirate?” Harry asked.

Louis mulled over his words for a moment, shifting to draw his feet onto the seat of his chair. He spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “I was in the navy before this, for almost six months. We’d docked in Plymouth for two days and as all sailors do, we went out to wet our lips. At the inn we went to, I met another kid, barely an adult just as I was. And I thought he seemed nice. I  _ thought _ . He’d been giving me eyes all night and so finally, with enough rum in me to have the balls, I approached him. It was the first time I’d ever approached anyone, but he seemed like a safe bet. He was slight and pretty and had straw coloured curls, honey coloured eyes. We went to the beach together, and I was nervous so I spent the last of my allowance on a bottle of wine to swig while we walked.”

Louis took a breath and looked at his feet before he continued, “Only it was a trap. He’d been employed by the other men in my crew to lure me there, and when I finally brought my lips to his, they all came out from the wharves and held me down and took that bottle to my neck. First, they broke the neck off and used it to spin the circle into my neck, and unsatisfied that they’d branded me enough, they produced a knife and hacked an S in there too.”

Harry didn’t say anything. Louis glanced up at him and found himself staring into two wide eyes. It was enough to send his eyes back to his feet so he could continue. “I would have bled to death on that beach if the whole thing hadn’t been witnessed by one of the local prostitutes. She half-carried me back to her brothel where they stitched me up and allowed me to sleep until I could bare to be awake again. I was penniless and owed those girls a great amount so I promised to find a way to pay them back. Between that and my sudden exile from the king’s men, piracy seemed like the only thing for me to do. Like you, I had no place in British society, and no coin to run where my scar wouldn’t have me killed.”

“Do you like piracy then? If you felt forced into it,” Harry asked thoughtfully.

“If not for piracy, I’m sure I would have been forced into much worse. As you said, I can create my own laws on the sea.”

Harry gave him an understanding half smile and then asked, “Why did they not just kill you? Why go through all that effort just to brand you with that scar?”

Louis let out a dark chuckle and smiled glumly. “To them, it is a worse punishment to live as a sodomite than to die a man.”

“Well, how wrong they are,” Harry mused, resting his head against the bedpost so he could look to the ceiling. As though there would be more answers there.

“Indeed,” Louis replied.

* * *

As much as Louis had hoped to learn one of Harry’s weaknesses through having him talk, he only discovered his own. 

The first was that he had a far greater soft spot for the man than he’d realised. And the second was that it was far, far more difficult to leave Harry than he’d ever thought.

Louis didn’t leave his room for the rest of the afternoon. The only sign that time had passed was the gentle lowering of the sun through the window. Slowly, the room grew more golden, more orange, and then the light of the sun was replaced by the glow of candles. 

They’d talked the entire time.

For so long even that half of their candles had burnt out and the other half barely flickered in the reflection of the patinated mirror atop Louis’ dresser. Salt and time had worn it away until there were black constellations across it.

At first, it had been about the scars that their lives had left them with. Harry told Louis of the scar on his wrist, under his anchor tattoo. He’d got it when he was a child, a cut from a rock when he’d fallen crossing a river as he explored the woods behind his house. It reminded him of his mother, his maternal anchor. Louis told him of the scar on the back of his elbow from where he’d fallen from a second storey window in his own childhood. He’d been climbing out of his bedroom to explore the stony ruins of a desolate workhouse with his friends.

Then they moved to the other moments that marked their childhoods, the shiny glimpses that still felt warm when they thought of them. Harry’s cocker spaniels and his trips to the cliffs in Dorset and the glimmers of sun in his eyes when he rode horses in the early spring mornings. Louis with the feeling of his mother’s hands against his shoulder, the brush of her white summer dress as she held him in the summer evenings when the sky was purple.

They talked of the darker things too, the memories of the things that made them grow up too quickly, made them realise that their days of freedom were numbered. Harry’s was the smell of banks, of money and dust. Louis’ was the plumes of smoke that billowed from the factories in the horizon before he knew that man could live on the sea.

Harry was calm as he spoke, his body relaxed against the quilt of Louis’ bed. He was such an open book, so easy in his storytelling, and the further they tumbled into each other’s voices, the more it became apparent that Harry was simply Harry. He liked to think he played games more than he did. He was honest and forthcoming and witty and Louis didn’t think he was good enough an actor to be making it all up.

So Louis slowly let himself be drawn more and more into Harry’s questions. He found himself answering questions that Harry hadn’t yet even gotten the chance to think up. He could anticipate what would come next out of Harry and usually, judging by the small smile on Harry’s lips, he was right. Eventually, he made his way to join him on the quilts, his back against the right hand bedpost at the bottom of the bed. They faced each other and sat so their toes almost touched.

Louis couldn’t point to the exact moment that it felt like they knew each other. At some point they were talking about what they looked like as children and the next, they were laughing about drunken nights in Jamaica. No sooner they were talking about all the times that they’d just barely missed each other, whether by mere minutes or simply the fact that they would not have recognised each other.

Louis thought of the night off the coast of Bermuda. The night that he knew they could have met and that Harry could have killed him.

He was about to ask about it when Harry suddenly professed that he needed to use the toilet. He made an unfortunate looking face and glumly said, “I’ve just realised that it’s dark and not once have you let me relieve myself.”

Louis caught himself halfway to another sentence and shut his mouth and, yes, he supposed Harry was right. Somehow the entire day had gone by and Harry hadn’t made an effort to go once.

“To be fair,” Louis started, shrugging impishly, “you never asked.”

Harry scrunched his nose up as he breathed out a laugh. “Well I’m asking now.”

And so Louis let him. 

He pulled out the key on his necklace and unlocked the belt from the bedpost, and they walked together to the tiny bathroom. However, this time, Louis didn’t help him with his trousers. And he didn’t watch him. Instead, he closed the door behind Harry in his cuffs and rested against it as he waited for him to be done. Louis did not worry about Harry taking off his cuffs or trying to escape. The window next to the toilet was all but a tiny circle, barely wide enough to fit his head out if he smashed it open.

As he waited, Louis let his eyes fall on the bed, on the indent that Harry had left at the foot of it. At some point, Harry had pulled off his socks and now they sat wantonly on the floor. And it seemed befitting that Harry would leave a mark everywhere he went. He was so open, so honest, and perhaps that’s what his game was. He simply said who he was and what he was going to do, and then he did it. Whether you believed him or not.

Perhaps he played on the fact that people didn’t believe him. It gave him chance to say his plans in all their truth, and his victims were too busy considering how he was pulling one over on them to realise he’d already pulled everything off.

Perhaps leaving his mark on Louis was all part of the plan. 

But it couldn’t have been. They’d never met. There was no way that Harry could have known who Louis was. He didn’t know what he looked like, nor that they would get on together so — dare he say — well. And so Louis found himself once again wondering how it was that they’d never met, never gotten into a battle of quick remarks in a tavern or landed on each other’s deck with a heavy boot and a cutlass in hand. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have the chance. It wasn’t as though Bermuda hadn’t happened.

Without warning, Harry pulled the door open and Louis fell backwards with it, back into Harry. He caught him with a chuckle.

“Waiting with an ear against the door are we?” Harry asked teasingly as Louis stood straight and collected himself, readjusting his sheath straps. “Hear anything interesting?”

Louis turned and gave him a pointed look. “Unless it’s you clambering out that window, there’s nothing I would ever want to hear coming out of you on a toilet.”

“Well that makes two of us then,” Harry grinned as he started walking back to the bedpost. Once he was there he simply sat down and held his wrists up for Louis to tie back up. 

Louis watched how he sat down so languidly, so routinely, and suddenly came to the realisation that Harry already had ample opportunity to escape. He could have swiped a blade from Louis’ belt and cut himself free. He could have strangled Louis with his cuffs when he got too close, and Harry’s restraints would have been a demise of Louis’ own making. 

Or he could have simply walked from the room when Louis had let him go to the toilet.

And yet, he didn’t.

He didn’t even yell for help, make himself known.

There was something unspoken, something understood, about the fact that Harry was going to stay here. They both knew that Harry would do as he was told, that while his restraints could stay, they weren’t particularly needed.

Maybe it was the fact that Harry would be slaughtered if he were to run out onto the deck. 

Maybe it was because Harry, like Louis, didn’t particularly want to leave.

At least as far as Louis was concerned, there was something sharp and bright and sparking between them. And it felt real. It felt like they were both letting their guards down, letting the other one in, despite it making them more vulnerable. Their game, their back and forth, was exciting. It was all so bloody  _ exciting _ .

Louis wasn’t one to actually play with his life but he wondered what he would do now if Harry had come onto his ship back in Bermuda. If it were back then, he would have cut Harry’s neck before Louis had the chance to note how perfectly his necklaces lay across it. And Harry would have gouged out Louis’ scar before he understood how he got it.

But now. Now it would have been different. Not different as in love. If Harry had tried to take his heart, he wouldn’t have already given it to him. No, not that. But he might give Harry the knife to take it, and Harry might give him a head start to run.

And that was enthralling. It was  _ exciting _ . He liked not knowing he was the smartest in the room, the quickest or the slyest.

He’d made himself more vulnerable and it had been worth it. Harry was sitting on his bed, waiting to be tied up. Waiting for Louis to keep playing this game.

Louis walked back over to Harry and stood between his knees to lock the belt back up. And if Harry asked it was because it was unavoidable really, the belt was only so long. It was the only place to stand where Louis could tie them. And besides, it was Harry who had sat down with his knees so far apart. It was Harry who didn’t seem to have any semblance of personal space. And so Louis stood there with his legs against Harry’s trousers, absolutely not thinking about the warmth of Harry’s thighs. And definitely not considering how they might feel pinning him down against the bed.

But Harry didn’t ask, and so Louis didn’t have to say anything of those things. Those lies. Instead, he could know that the weight and the warmth of Harry’s thighs and what they might feel like around his waist were the only things on his mind.

Louis let his legs stand a little wider. 

As he worked away, Louis glanced at Harry’s face in his peripheral. He was watching Louis’ hands hook the belt around the middle strap of his cuffs. And he was biting his lip.

Whether in thought or something more, something like the warm feeling Louis had in his stomach, Louis couldn’t be sure.

But he wasn’t moving his legs away.

Louis forced his eyes back to the lock as he clicked it shut. 

The feeling in his stomach grew.

And Harry looked up at him. He whispered, “My darling fair youth.”

Louis lifted his face to Harry and gave him a pointed, expectant look. But he didn’t step away.

Harry grinned at the suspicious eyes on him, then he continued with, “I have a question.”

“Mm?” Louis flatly hummed, not giving him the satisfaction of actually being interested, responding to that pet name, while he was standing so close.

“Why are you so trusting of me?”

“Trusting?” Louis asked.

“You’ve not been particularly strict about my being tied up. You let me sit here alone when you were fetching me rum for my burns. You let me go to the bathroom alone. And you stand so close.”

The last sentence hung in the air and Louis didn’t catch on to why Harry had said it until he felt the familiar whisper of blade leaving sheath.

Louis glanced down to see his dagger in Harry’s right hand, the sharp end pointing towards his stomach. When he glanced up, Harry was looking at him with a wry smile.

“I could kill you right now.”

Still, Louis didn’t move away. Instead, he gave a daring smile back. Let his teeth gleam in the candlelight. This was all a part of their game.

“Why am I so trusting of you? I’ll answer that with a question of my own,” Louis thoughtfully said.

Harry quirked an eyebrow.

Louis snuck his hand behind his waist and pulled out the pin needle dagger that he kept on the back on his belt. He placed the tip of it to Harry’s throat, turning it a little as he whispered, “Do you remember Bermuda?”

Harry let his smile hang open a little, like there were words on the edge of his lips. And then, despite the blade to his throat, he looked thoughtful.

Louis continued, “Do you remember how you blew my masts to pieces, how you half sunk us? I lost half my crew, my navigator lost his leg, and then—” Louis let his voice go light, airy— “Just like that… you sailed away before you even boarded my ship. You could have killed me, like you could right now, and yet. You didn’t. You had the chance then and you didn’t take it.”

Louis could see in his eyes that Harry remembered that day. The  _ Black Dagger _ had just made a trip to Bermuda and while Louis was there, he’d struck up quick, easy deal to take a shipment of salt back to Nassau. Barely a day into their journey, they’d come into two ships. First, the Portuguese. Then, near sundown, they’d seen the _ Pearl Rose _ on the horizon.

“No one brings anything of value back from Bermuda,” Harry simply said. “There would have been nothing to plunder.”

“But what of me? You knew it was my ship. Why waste your canons if not to finally kill me?”

“You’re so humble, _ fair youth _ ,” Harry teased, pressing his knife against the linen of Louis’ shirt. “But if you must know—”

And Louis did.

“— It was simply too easy. I thought it strange that Captain Tomlinson should be taken down so easily. You barely put up a fight.”

“We’d spent our canons taking down a Portuguese ship that morning.”

“Ah,” Harry smiled. “I thought something just as much.”

“You still haven’t answered my question though, why not kill me when you had the chance?” Louis asked, pressing his own knife against Harry’s skin with the same weight of Harry’s against him.

“I told you already, I’m a merciful captain. I only wanted to take you if it’s an equal fight. You’re too good to take by cowardice.” Then he whispered, ”I wanted to earn it.”

Louis leant down his face to Harry’s, close enough to kiss him. Close enough to see his reflection in his eyes. He whispered back, “Do you still?”

Harry got a wicked grin across his face. And he swallowed so Louis’ blade shifted against his skin. “I don’t know.”

Harry kept his eyes firmly on Louis’. Then suddenly, he dropped his blade to the floor. It landed with a clatter and then everything was silent. Louis could only hear his own beating heart melting into Harry’s sure, decided breaths.

Harry whispered, “I don’t know that I want to kill you at all.” There was a beat before Harry added, “Do you want to kill me? You have the chance now.”

Louis almost couldn’t get the words out. There was a heavy weight in his chest. A feeling he couldn’t describe. Like a gutteral excitement. Fear and anticipation rolled into one. He was the only one with a knife now and yet it was him who felt trapped. There was no right answer here, but there was no wrong answer either. He couldn’t say that he wanted Harry, his equal, to stay with him. He couldn’t lie and say he wanted to kill him, and have to go through with it. Harry had been completely honest with him so far, he never hid from the truth, so it felt like the only right thing to do was to be honest back. It would be a fair fight then.

Louis shook his head.

Then he said, “I don’t want you to force me to.”

“I won’t force you to do anything,” Harry replied darkly. He licked his lips and it felt like he was forcing Louis into kissing them.

But this was a game. 

And Louis didn’t want to lose.

So he drew his dagger from Harry’s neck and he placed to Harry’s lips instead. He pressed the flat side into the skin of his bottom lip and made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching how Harry’s lip glistened around it.

“Shakespeare’s fair youth betrays him for not falling into his love, correct?” Louis asked as though he were merely pondering aloud, merely trying to remember.

Harry didn’t say anything. He just delicately pressed his tongue to the tip of the blade and blinked slowly up at Louis as he did it. His eyes were wide, dilated in the candlelight. Glossy.

“Well I’m not falling tonight,” Louis breathed, letting himself grin again. 

He pulled his knife away.

He stood back.

Harry frowned.

“Not even just one kiss?” he asked.

Louis chuckled and shook his head. “Not even one.”

Harry’s eyes shifted down himself. “Then what am I to do with my trousers? You’ve made them too tight.”

Louis wanted to glance down with him but he knew that if he did, he’d lose. He’d give in and cover Harry’s body with his mouth. Instead, Louis let the shock of warm blood shoot through his body and collect in his gut as he watched Harry flick his eyes back up to meet him through his eyelashes. Then Louis said, voice catching just a little, “You can do with them what you like.”

Just for good measure, just to make Harry know that he could play his games just as much as him, Louis left the room.

* * *

It was cool out, a different kind to leaving his quarters during the day. It was a quiet cool, still and charcoal. The sails were awash with it, barely whipping in the gentle breeze. It sent a shiver through Louis’ spine; his skin was so sensitive, burning from the fire Harry had put beneath it. He could feel himself suddenly throbbing — a heavy weight, warm and thick, pressing against his trousers. The way Harry had been looking at him at the end there, it had been too much. Too intense. And the way he’d looked up at Louis from behind his eyelashes had been even worse. 

Truth be told, Louis wanted to turn on his heel and go back in there. He wanted to make Harry’s mouth his, put those wet lips to use. He wanted to see how glossy he could make his eyes. He wanted to kiss him.

But this was a game and Louis wasn’t losing. He wasn’t going to show that kind of weakness. Not yet.

He wouldn’t give Harry the satisfaction.

Still, there was the glaring fact that Louis was hard in his trousers, and he needed a way to deal with it. Alone. 

Thankfully, it was so late that no one was about, save only for the slumped body of a lookout too tired for his job. Usually Louis would have waltzed up there, to the head of the ship where he was half-laying, and kick his shoe, give him a good natured slight for letting the late hour get the better of him. In his current state though, there was no chance he would rouse them. Louis didn’t want to arouse suspicion to the fact that he was so — well —  _ aroused. _

So he slunk past and went to the one place he knew he could be left to it, too far to be seen or heard. To the crow’s nest on the foremast.

It’d been years since he’d been a rigger, climbing amongst the sails to earn his place, but the muscle memory was still there. He still had the hard bumps of calluses across his palms and the strength in his arms — even if now it was from swords and not ropes. Louis pulled himself up onto the rigging with both arms, hoisting himself up until his toes caught purchase, and then he climbed. Below him, the sea got further and darker. The dark horizon grew sharper. When he made it to the top, pushing himself up and over into the bucket of the platform, the moon seemed close enough to touch. The stars seemed endless. His skin felt static.

Louis sat down on the floor of the platform and rested his back against the wooden frame that circled it.

Here, heart thudding, he was finally free. For his hands to wander to his belt and his mind to wander its way back to the dark depths of Harry’s eyes. They were so perfect, so round, the pupils so dilated that the night sky didn’t compare.

He thought about the way Harry’s wet bottom lip slid against his knife, and he pictured his cock in place of it.

Louis touched himself.

He slid his hands into the cloth of his trousers and collected himself in his right hand. The skin of his penis was soft, smooth, as he stroked himself. It was so easy to do this, to let his hand run up and down like it was moving in water. Like he was swimming in the pool that swarmed his gut.

Harry was so gorgeous and Louis was allowed to think that up here, away from those eyes. Those hands. He was allowed to think about running his fingers through Harry’s hair. He bet it was soft, perfect for tugging. For fisting.

Louis leant his head back against the wooden frame and clasped a little harder, pulled a little faster.

He bit his lip and ogled the sky as he did it, imagining that the grasp of Harry’s fists against his arse would be just as endless. The thought of Harry’s hands tight against him, grabbing him, holding him down, shot stars through his veins.

He thought of being the one held in cuffs instead, of Harry’s hands holding them down against the bed, and more shot through him.

Here was the only place he could think it. It was the only place Louis was alone enough to let himself muster the words without losing any game. They bled from his lips, tiny smatterings of syllables on the edge of his hitching breath.

He wanted Harry to fuck him.

And then he came.

A shot of air left Louis’ lips as he shook through the spasms, his head hitting against the wood behind him. As the last quivers left him, he let out a shaky breath and felt his body slump. He felt heavy, but different from before. Like the heaviness of sleep, not anticipation. 

Lazily, Louis wiped the come across his palm on the bottom of his shirt — where it had lifted out of his trousers. The stains glistened. They made him think of them coming from Harry and it almost made him touch himself again, but the pull of sleep was stronger. His poor sleep from the night before had caught up to him. 

He was spent and the night was dark and it was easy to drift into dreams of Harry’s lips.

Louis quickly fell from consciousness, eyes drooping contently. He was almost dead asleep when he heard the faint clatter of something hitting wood. The sound shook him from his dreams and made his heart jump. In his half-slumbered state, he couldn’t tell the distance of the sound, couldn’t tell if he’d just been caught whispering Harry’s name in his sleep or if someone were passing by on the deck below. 

He could not quite pull himself out of his state, the tug of sleep too strong, but he could at least let his eyes fall half open so his eyelashes still shielded him from his surroundings. Hazily, he pushed himself up the side of the crow’s nest to see what had made the sound and there, far down on the deck below, was a figure walking to the head of the ship. Though it was dark, Louis could just barely register that it was Tavis, with his long black hair — straight as a knife — and his willowy shoulders. He was holding three buckets, water spilling over the edges as he moved, and that alone was enough for Louis to calm down. He hadn’t been spotted, it was simply a crewmate moving through the night. And so Louis let himself slide back to his spot and let his eyelids fall just as quickly as sleep came back to him.

* * *

Louis woke with a splash of water to his face.

The sun was bright and hot and his skin was tight from it. So the water was a shock. It made him bolt upright.

He wiped at his eyes until he could bear to blink them open. There was a figure above him, but the sun cast them as a shadow against a blue sky. Louis’ eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the day.

Slowly though, they came into focus. 

Slim shoulders, small build, mop of straight hair. It was Tavis. And he was closing the lid on his flask.

“Morning, Cap,” he said brightly, smiling ear to ear. Even though his heavy Scottish accent cuddled his words, Louis could still hear the sharpness in them, like he’d thought he’d caught Louis out and it was all quite amusing. “What did you get up to last night?”

Louis immediately looked down at himself and,  _ thankfully _ , he was in decent enough shape. The swipe of dried come along his front matched the colour of his linen shirt so it was barely visible. And if it was noticed, there were plenty of things it could have been. Spilt milk, dried rum. Any of it. It really wasn’t that unusual for their kind to be dirty. 

Louis looked back up at Tavis and raised his chin confidently. Or as confidently as he could muster after being caught sleeping like a drunk at the top of the mast. “Was simply nice out.”

“Tis nice down on the decks too,” Tavis replied cheekily. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and looked at Louis like it was a challenge. He was always like this, Louis saw a lot of himself in the kid. Always looking for ways to prove his quick wit, that he was sharp. That he  _ saw  _ things.

“It is,” Louis said, standing up so he was the same height as him. “But surely you of all people can appreciate that the view is always best from up here. I used to spend every day up here too, it’s nice to visit every once in a while.”

“Aye,” Tavis said, watching as Louis tucked his shirt back into his trousers. “That’s true but still, it’s a bit suspicious is it not, Cap? Sneaking out to sleep up here, not much to see at night.”

Tavis was grinning so Louis let it slide. For the most part. A part of him felt caught, but there was no way Tavis was anything more than a kid keen on trying his wit. So instead of pushing out a finger so Tavis fell to the deck below, he simply raised an eyebrow and grinned. “And what is it you’re suspecting, my young wain?”

Tavis twisted his mouth. “Nothing in particular, I’m just saying.”

“Ah,” Louis breathed, nodding as he went to the edge of the nest and hopped over to the outside of it with a loose smile. “Perhaps then, Tavis, you’ll simply appreciate the fact that you got away with waking me so unceremoniously without any punishment and we’ll leave it at that.”

“Aye,” Tavis said, lowering his head just a touch. Because although Louis sounded jovial, teasing in his words, everyone on board knew that he wasn’t to be prodded.

“Aye,” Louis smiled back. Then he patted Tavis’s shoulder. “Good lad.”

Tavis gave him a small smile back and watched as Louis hopped down and clambered to deck.

On the ground, most of his crew were quietly working away. By all accounts, nothing was amiss. No one batted an eyelid at the fact that Louis had come down from the ropes. Which, well, there wasn’t much of a reason for them to do that in the first place, it was his ship and he could do as he liked, but Louis’ haunches were still up. He could feel the slight pull of his shirt inside his trousers tugging on his navel hair where his come had stuck. And he could feel the distance between him and Harry.

He wanted to check on him. He wanted to check that Liam hadn’t used his key to Louis’ quarters in the middle of the night and then quartered Harry when he’d found him instead.

Louis made it halfway across the deck before Liam was right there, standing in front of him. Came out of nowhere like a tidal wave, his heavy boots hitting the ground in front of Louis and making him jump.

And he was grinning ear to ear.

“Captain Louis Tomlinson,” he gleamed, and Louis couldn’t help but roll his eyes. This tone always came before Liam said something teasing. And teasing for Liam meant attempting to say something snarky, gossipy, but sounding instead like he belonged with the teddies Louis’ sisters kept on their bed growing up. “I’ve been looking for you all morning. But you’re out and about, did someone drink too much last night and end up somewhere he shouldn’t?”

“Looking for me?” Louis breathed out. He felt caught out, like Liam was about to pull the timber out from under him. Like he was about to fall into the hammocks below.

“Aye,” Liam said. “Thought you might be stretching your legs since you weren’t to be seen all of yesterday so I had a wander and couldn’t find you anywhere. And when you didn’t answer your door I assumed you were still sleeping and left you to it.”

“Oh,” Louis settled. He wanted to ask Liam if he’d peeked inside, but it seemed too obvious. Too suspicious. So instead he carefully said, “You’ve got a key.”

Liam smiled at that. “Yeah, but I know better than to walk in unannounced. Surely you remember that night we were docked in Nassau with, um, what was his name?”

Louis didn’t remember the name of the man Liam had walked in on him with, but he remembered the ensuring chaos. The flying of hands and pillows, the cracking of his door being slammed shut. The strange noises that came from Liam’s room as he tried to gather himself together.

“Right, well,” Louis coughed up, trying to move on, “I appreciate you learned some manners. Why did you want me?”

Liam’s face changed at that, clearly just as thankful as Louis to not dwell on the embarrassing sight of Louis’ stark white arse up in the air. Liam’s cheeks touched the underside of his glasses as he smiled and said, “Ah, yes. I was just going to ask if I could borrow your game of checkers. I’ve got a bet with a couple of the crew but I wanted to ask first, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Louis repeated, tinge of a smile on his lip. Liam was so well mannered, it was a wonder he’d ever become a pirate in the first place. “Of course you can, Li. It was in the navigation room last I saw — I had a game with Niall last week.”

“Right, well,” Liam replied, shifting on his feet. “I had a look there, but someone’s moved everything around. They’ve  _ tidied _ it.”

“Horrifying,” Louis mused flatly. He wasn’t about to tell Liam that it was him who’d done it. And he certainly wasn’t about to tell him why. “I’ll have a look if you like?”

He’d say anything to make sure Liam didn’t hover too long.

“You would?” Liam asked. He sounded doubtful.

“Sure, why not. What else is there for a captain to do around here if not work for his crew? Is that not my job? Make sure everyone keeps their heads screwed on so we don’t die?”

“I suppose,” Liam said, breathing out his amusement. “I’d be sure to die if I don’t have my checkers.”

“Exaaactly!” Louis said brightly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

So they made their way up to the navigation room and Louis tried his best to look like he didn’t know exactly where the game had been tucked away on a top shelf. He made an effort to screw up his mouth thoughtfully and try the opposite side of the room first. In fact, he was so good at making a show of rustling through scrolls and books, that it was Liam who ended up finding the thing.

Louis had to bite back his grin as Liam held it up in the air triumphantly. 

What Louis had forgotten though, was the teetering pile he’d left under the checkers box. It was a pile of games, cards, a sneaky flask of port. All the things necessary for the nights that Louis spent with Liam and Niall when it was quiet out. As Liam went to excitedly open the box in his hands, check that everything was as it should be, the entire pile, well, fell.

There was a heavy box containing a jewelled set of chess pieces that fell on his shoulder with an impressive whack. And a wooden carton of cards that fell right after it and hit the back of his head before it crashed to the ground and sent cards shooting in every direction.

And it was kind of Louis’ fault, but he wouldn’t admit it. Not even for the fact that it was him that had put them there, but for the fact that that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know how to  _ actually  _ be tidy. And Liam could have been more careful. Honestly. 

Liam let out a quiet  _ fuck  _ under his breath and jumped forward in case anything else decided his head made for a great landing spot. Luckily though, the rest of their games stayed put.

“You alright?” Louis asked as Liam caught hold of himself and drew a hand to the back of his head. He pulled it away and looked at his fingers as though he might be bleeding. But he wasn’t.

“Just a good whack,” Liam said, giving Louis a half-smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well that’s good, we can’t be losing the world’s most notorious quartermaster to a box of cards now, can we?”

Liam chuckled to himself. “Absolutely not. I might be dead, but I still wouldn’t hear the end of it from you.”

“You’re quite right there,” Louis grinned, knocking Liam’s arm with his knuckle before bending down to pick everything up. Liam started helping him immediately, clawing together a pile of all the cards so he could pack them back together.

Louis picked up the chess box and wiped the top of it. He’d cleaned it when he’d cleaned the room, but already specks of dust had started to collect along it. It was an ivory box, plain and rectangular, except the sides were engraved with florally golden swirls. There was a name along one of the corners, Mr  _ T. M. Hendricks _ . Louis had never known who he was, only that his chess box had ended up in the possession of Louis’ first captain — One-Eyed Gallagher. And that he’d then given that box and a promotion to Louis when he’d saved his life. 

He supposed he should have kept it in his own quarters with the rest of his most prized possessions, but there was no point in playing chess without a partner, and Louis didn’t often let others hang about in his room.

Until now.

He thought of Harry and supposed that the man would probably like to play. He seemed to like to play mind games, so chess shouldn’t be so different.

Carefully, Louis opened the box so he could check if any of the pieces had been broken in the fall. They were gold and set with jewels. One set had blue sapphires in them, and the other had opals. They all seemed intact except for the sapphire Queen. The gem at the top of her spire had broken off. 

“What’ll you do?” Liam asked as he watched Louis turn the piece in his hand.

Louis screwed up his mouth and hummed to himself. He wasn’t sure how he could fix it, it was tiny and he’d didn’t have a jeweller on hand. “It’ll have to wait until we get to Senegal at least.”

Still, that wouldn’t stop him from taking it back to his room.

Carefully, Louis pocketed the broken piece and the tiny blue jewel and closed the box as he quietly said, “I’ll keep it with me so I don’t forget to get it fixed.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Liam smiled.

“I’m full of those,” Louis grinned. He loved being facetious with Liam. It was so easy.

Liam smacked his nose.

* * *

Harry was lying on his stomach reading, ankles crossed in the air behind him. He looked like a girl writing in her diary, which was neither surprising nor terrible. Louis was starting to grow quite fond of the fact that Harry was so comfortable, so languid in the bed sheets. He swore that every time he saw him, the man was moments away from twirling his hair and batting his eyelids. 

Which Louis wouldn’t oppose either.

Harry looked up at him with a grin and Louis was sure he saw his eyelashes flutter. “Afternoon,” he said. Even though it was definitely not the afternoon yet. “I missed you.”

“Good morning to you too,” Louis said as he locked the door and went over to his desk. “How’s the book?”

“Almost done, actually. Which wasn’t difficult considering I’ve had all morning to read it.”

Louis placed the chess box onto his desk and then carefully pulled the broken pieces of the queen from his pocket. He talked over his shoulder as he placed them next to the box. “Apologies. I got a bit caught up outside.”

“Ah,” Harry breathed as he shifted to sit up. “Did someone suspect something?”

“No, no. Nothing I’m worried about. I think my barrelman is trying to work his way up the ropes, per se.”

“Mm?”

“He was doing god knows what out on deck last night—”

“Is that why you didn’t come back?”

Louis shook his head and he turned to lean against the desk. “No, I— uh. I just slept out there.”

“Shame.”

“ _ Such _ a shame,” Louis replied sarcastically. “It’s a wonder you’re still here after I left for so long.”

“It’s a wonder that my bladder hasn’t burst,” Harry grinned. Then he shook the belt around the bedpost.

“Sorry,” Louis said. It came out automatically. But he wasn’t shy about it. Harry was quickly becoming the only person he’d apologise to. 

He went over to Harry and undid the lock, letting it fall to the bed. Louis didn’t even go over to the door with Harry this time. Despite the knives of the night before, there was no real need to. Because that was exactly what proved that Louis would feel quite comfortable that Harry wasn’t going to actually stab him anymore.

Though he didn’t trust him enough to actually free him altogether. He was letting his guard down an inch, not the whole way.

Harry wandered over to the small bathroom and closed the door behind him. As he shut it, Louis let himself sit on the edge of the bed. He put a hand to where Harry had been sitting. It was still warm. Still dipped where his hips had been. 

It smelled like Harry too, which was something that Louis couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t smell like earth or rain or the ocean or anything Louis could touch. He smelled like warmth and comfort, but of refreshment too. Like frothy waves washing over your toes at the beach on a summer’s day. Like sun in the middle of winter.

He pictured Harry lying here the night before, writhing in his hands just as Louis had done outside.

It sent shockwaves through his blood, make his gut glow warm. A quiet throb through his whole body.

Louis let his fingers graze over the sheets and slowly make their way to the copy of  _ Willow’s Grace _ that Harry had left there. He picked it up and absentmindedly flipped through the pages. Louis had read this book at least five times, each time finding something new to mull over. This time, it was Harry’s fingerprints. He couldn’t see them, but knowing they’d been there was enough.

Harry had dog-eared the page he’d last been reading and the crease made Louis’ stomach do something funny. Go light and fuzzy. It was evidence, knowledge, that they’d both shared the same pages, the same story. Gotten lost in the same world.

And Harry had made it over three quarters of the way through it, so either he was incredibly bored or he actually rather liked it.

Louis bit his lip and carefully put the book down. The room was quiet. He could hear Harry shifting about in the bathroom, the pad of his feet as he stepped around.

Louis wondered what he was doing in there. Probably touching the shadow of chin hair he’d started to grow. Or plucking out a licorice chew stick to freshen his breath with. They seemed like Harry things to do, he came across as more preened than the usual pirate.

In the quiet of the moment though, Louis quickly came to himself. Being alone would give him a chance to change his shirt before Harry could make any quick jabs at him. Because he wouldn’t mistake his stain for milk, he’d guess right away what it actually was. And then Louis would have absolutely no option but to toss himself overboard. Sheer embarrassment alone.

Louis quickly made his way over to his dresser and slid open the top drawer. He had amassed quite the collection of clothes and usually he would pick any from the pile, but he wanted something that would help him keep his cool. Would help him from completely forgetting that he should have his guard up at all.

There was a black one near the bottom that he’d had for years. It was billowy French linen and tousled by years of wear. The smell of a perfume he wore years ago still clung to it, and surely that would be enough for Louis to remember where he’d come from. To remember how it was he’d managed to keep himself alive.

He pulled it out and pressed his nose into it. It smelt of oranges and musk, half of which was probably from being kept in the dusty corners of Louis’ quarters for so long. Still, it would do.

He placed it on the dresser and lifted the shirt he was wearing over his head.

A chuckle came from near him.

It was Harry.

Louis pulled his arms down, shirt hanging only onto his wrists and looked over. His heart thudded.

“You know,” Harry said, he was leaning against the door frame, chew stick hanging from his mouth, “you had me in absolute knots last night.”

Louis just blinked at him. It was  _ him _ who had been in knots, completely wound up, the night before. Between the thought of Harry and the feel of his own  _ hands _ , Louis hadn’t known what to do with himself. Eventually, he managed, “What do you mean?”

“I mean you left me here, tied up and alone, wondering if you were coming back.”

“Sounds awful,” Louis said, keeping his tone flat.

“Did you sort yourself out?” Harry asked, raising his cuffed hands to play with the chew stick. He rolled it between two of his fingers, flicking it with this tongue.

“Did you?” Louis countered.

“Not yet.”

Louis didn’t know what to say, but he felt the skin on his bare back prick. And his gut warm.

Harry continued, “I waited to see if you were just playing and that you’d come back to help me out since I’ve been  _ so good _ so far. And then you didn’t and my body gave out and I fell asleep.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Louis said as smoothly as possible. He tried so hard to keep a straight face, but it was so difficult with Harry standing there like that. Chew stick in his mouth and challenge in his eyes.

“I am too. But.”

But.

_ But. _

Harry walked over to Louis so they were less than a metre apart and placed his chew stick down on the dresser. Suddenly he seemed so tall. His smell was so strong. His delicate chin hairs looked perfect from this distance. Kissable.

Louis could feel his heartbeat catching in his chest.

“We could always make up for it now. It’s nicer to see you in this light.” Harry gave Louis a once over, eyes catching on the hairs, the tattoos, across his chest. 

“What’s—” Louis started before his voice caught. He pulled his arms around himself so he felt less naked.

Harry didn’t wait for him to finish. He pressed his hands together so they made a gun and held them to the underside of Louis’ jaw. Then slowly, he turned up Louis’ head so his neck was exposed.

Louis’ veins were all on fire. His arm hairs on end. His breath short.

It felt like Harry knew it, he grinned and his teeth were half on show. 

He whispered, “You are such a pretty creature.”

And then, slowly, carefully, he closed in on Louis. On his neck. He lapped at the side of it with one slow, measured licking kiss.

When he pulled away, Louis could feel the air collect against the saliva Harry left. It was cool. And it made Louis hot.

Harry looked down at Louis, his hands unmoving under his chin. And Louis was unmoving too. He was staring at the ground, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to merely hold himself together. 

It was difficult, his legs wanted to give out and Louis wanted them to fall into Harry’s hands, but he didn’t want to hand over all the power to Harry. They might have had their time together the day before, Harry might have had the opportunity to kill him and left it. Louis might have come in his hand to the idea of Harry fucking him. But that didn’t mean he would just let it happen. Not now, not now that Harry was right there. Not locked up. Hand under Louis’ chin. It was too real. Louis’ heart was racing too quickly.

Louis was Harry’s  _ fair youth _ , they knew betrayal had to lie at the end of this. And Harry wouldn’t just let himself be used, be fucked and killed, if he didn’t have a plan to take the killing out of the equation first. Even if they were two pages out of the same book, even if they had confessed their lives before piracy, Harry wasn’t that stupid. That naive. This had to be a part of a bigger plan.

Louis would figure him out before he let Harry do all the things he’d dreamt of him doing the night before.

He narrowed his eyes and turned his head to face Harry. Their eyes locked and Louis had to force himself not to let out a lusting sigh and kiss him right there, push him up onto the dresser and wrap Harry’s arms around his neck so he could feel the thin chain between the cuffs against the bones in his neck.

Louis raised his hand and pressed a finger to the chain of the cuffs instead. He pushed Harry backwards, leading him towards the bed. Then he shoved hard enough for Harry to fall back and sit on the quilt.

“You’re playing games with me, Harry.” Louis looked down at him with his chin high, his haunches up. His cock hard.

“Am I?” Harry asked back.

Louis shoved his shirt back on and tried to ignore the stain right there, level with Harry’s eyes. Then he locked Harry back to the bedpost. Distraction seemed like the best way to go about this, to catch Harry off guard enough to get some answers out of him. To figure him out without realising. 

If this were yesterday, he probably would have already let Harry kiss him properly. On the mouth. But now, in the bright of day, he had a little more clarity. Was a little more aware. 

And he was aware of the fact that the only reason his haunches were back up was because it had only been two days and Louis was already considering taking those ties off Harry and asking him to put them on him instead. Asking Harry to consume him entirely. It was dangerously close to not being a game anymore. There was no competition in Louis wanting to give up his end of the bargain.

“We’ll play a different game instead,” Louis said, spinning on his heel and stalking over to his desk. He swiped up his game of chess and the broken queen, leaving the tiny blue jewel to sit on its own.

Then he grabbed the back of his desk chair and dragged over to the edge of the bed, its feet scraping harshly against the timber of the floor. Harry didn’t say anything, but he did watch Louis with a smirk. Perhaps Louis was being too obvious in how much Harry was getting under his skin.

Harry glanced at the bump in Louis’ trousers as he dropped himself into the chair and it sent a panic up Louis’ spine. He’d seen him, there was no hiding it, and his smirk had grown for half a second.

Louis dumped the box on the bed and Harry quickly pushed himself further back for there to be enough space to open it between them. He sat with one knee up and his opposite foot tucked in the space under it. He looked relaxed, confident, and so despite the fact that he was tied up it was him that was in control.

Louis sat with his legs loosely crossed so he could lean forward onto his elbows and hope that his erection went down.

Harry opened the box and the grid stared up at him. 

“Chess?” he asked, glancing up at Louis with a bemused expression. “We’re playing chess?”

“Is something wrong with that?” Louis asked, trying to sound as sharp as Harry’s eyes looked.

“Nothing at all. I’m not very good though, fair warning.”

“How come?”

Harry was thoughtful for a moment as he set up the pieces and then bit his lip. “I’m not good at thinking that many steps ahead.”

“Aren’t you?” Louis asked, setting up his own army — he took the sapphire pieces. It felt like he was asking more.

Harry shook his head, glancing up. “I think best in the moment.”

“White usually starts, so I play opal first with this set,” Louis gently added, motioning for Harry to make the first move, before he properly replied to the conversation at hand. “What are you thinking right now?”

Harry pushed forward a pawn and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m thinking that there’s things I’d rather be doing with you than playing chess.”

Louis moved one of his pawns, so that in three moves he could put Harry into check. “Why do you want to do that?”

It didn’t need to be said what  _ that _ was.

“Why do you try to make me think you  _ don’t _ ?” Harry asked, hand hovering over his pieces. As he grabbed another pawn and pushed it forwards, he glanced up and added with a smirk, “You clearly want to.”

“Just because I want something doesn’t mean I get it.” Louis pushed forwards another pawn.

“Why not? Aren’t you a pirate? Isn’t that the whole point?”

Louis answered as Harry pushed forward another, seemingly random, pawn. “A smart pirate chooses his battles.”

“But this isn’t a battle.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” Harry moved his rook and then looked up at Louis, putting his chin on his knee. “I don’t want it to be. Not anymore.”

Louis took his turn and didn’t say anything. Instead, he just finished and looked up at Harry expectantly.

Harry held his eyes as he added. “I had a lot of time to think last night and this morning and I found myself missing you. I’ve come to the definitive conclusion that I don’t want to kill you at all. I couldn’t do it last night, and I don’t think I will today or tomorrow or the day after.”

“That’s…” Louis said as he looked at the board. His hand hovered over the pieces. There were already two ways he could put Harry in check. 

He took neither of them.

“That’s unfortunate,” he finally said.

Harry’s brow tersed. “Why?”

“If you don’t kill me, what do you do at the end of this? There  _ will _ be an end.”

Harry grinned at him like he knew something Louis didn’t. “I just got up to the part in your book where Willow and Grace decide to run away and be witches together. It got me thinking. We could be like that. Imagine the stories. Instead of them being of one of us finally killing the other, imagine if they were of us taking on the seas  _ together _ .”

“It’s been two days, Harry.”

“If my options are to go on an adventure together or to be killed, why  _ not _ let it just be two days.”

“You think you’ll be the one to be killed then, do you?” Louis smirked as Harry finally took his move.

“I’m being generous,” Harry said airily, smiling as he slid a knight across the board.

“How am I to trust you? How do I know this isn’t all a ploy to get you out of your restraints? You could be lying.”

Harry looked at him with his eyes narrowed, like he didn’t believe Louis was being serious. “Louis,” he said. “I’ve had the opportunity to kill you so many times and I’ve never taken it. I just told you that I don’t think that many steps ahead. Why do you still cling to the idea of my getting loose to kill you? Why is that your excuse?”

Louis didn’t know how to answer. Because clinging to that idea was exactly what he was doing. It was all he  _ could _ do. If not that, then he’d have to finally admit to Harry that he did something to Louis that no one else did. He made him  _ soft _ .

He said nothing and moved his bishop.

Harry smiled at his silence and looked like he caught on to an idea.

“And Louis?” he added innocently. “If it makes you feel safer, you don’t have to take off my restraints until you’re certain I’m being honest. I really don’t mind these cuffs. My burns don’t hurt anymore.”

Louis blinked at him as Harry slid a piece across the board. The grin didn’t leave Harry’s face as he watched his hand move.

“Wha— I can’t leave them on.”

“Can’t you?” Harry asked silkily, looking back up at him as he moved a bishop.

“That would be… imbalanced. I would have too much power, and you too little.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“We’re— we’re equals. We have to be if I’m to touch you..”

“You’re the one who owns these, aren’t you? Surely you know that being cuffed is just as much fun as doing the cuffing.”

Louis could only look at him blankly. The erection that had finally dissipated started to come back. His skin felt hot.

“It’s your turn,” Harry said simply.

Louis bit his lip and pushed forward a pawn. It did nothing to the game bar give him another move, give him more time to let the heat in his blood brew.

Harry moved his bishop and took Louis’ pawn.

“What’s stopping you now?” Harry asked as he set the pawn on the bed next to him.

“Nothing,” Louis breathed as he moved his queen and took one of Harry’s rooks. He was playing senselessly now.

“Nothing,” Harry parroted with a smirk. “Uh huh.”

Then Harry moved his bishop and took Louis’ queen. He didn’t say anything as he did it, instead favouring to focus on turning the piece between his fingers.

Louis took his move, shifting his own bishop. When he was done, he looked up at Harry and waited for him to take his turn. Or to take Louis.

He did neither.

Harry simply watched Louis with plotting eyes and a hint of a smile on his lips. Then, without taking his eyes off of Louis, he extended his arm behind him. So it was reaching over the left side of the bed. 

Harry opened his hand and let the queen fall to the ground.

It landed with a dense clunk and rolled. 

Harry watched Louis and said nothing.

Louis said nothing and watched Harry.

Then Harry took the pawn and dropped that too.

“What are you doing?” Louis breathed, utterly confused. He wanted to rub a palm to his trousers or let Harry do it for him, not throw chess pieces to the floor.

Harry didn’t answer him. Instead, he plastered a look of innocence on his face and simply said, “I would pick them up but since I’m tied up, I can’t reach the ground. I need your help, Louis.”

Oh.

Louis got it now.

Not one to be outdone, he retaliated with a daring look. “And why should I retrieve them? They’re already out of the game.”

Harry paused.

Then he picked up Louis’ king and threw it off the bed with unwavering eyes, so it rolled towards the lavatory.

Louis didn’t know what to do with himself. He couldn’t decide between letting his eyes roll back with the jolt of fire Harry’s eyes were sending through his body, or to roll his eyes because Harry was being so petulant. 

He settled on staring Harry down and slowly standing out of his chair. There was no way he wasn’t achingly visible through his trousers, but he was counting on the fact that Harry’s eyes weren’t leaving his as he walked around the bedpost towards the chess pieces. As he walked past, Harry shifted too so his feet where hanging over the edge of the bed and Louis was directly in front of him.

Louis collected the king from near the bathroom door, keeping his eyes on Harry’s as he bent over. He kept his legs straight, bending only at the waist, so the curve of his arse would be visible.

They were like two ships in a ravine, destined to collide. It was only a matter of time. Only a matter of Louis closing the distance.

He walked forwards and hovered near Harry before he finally bent down, at the knees this time, to collect the queen and the pawn. 

Louis stood up and he took one last step forward, so he was right above Harry. So his belt was at Harry’s chin.

Harry tipped his head back so he could keep his eyes on Louis’. His hair fell down his back and his jaw went slack. He blinked twice at Louis, slowly and purposefully.

Louis looked down at him and dropped the pieces on the bed next to Harry. Neither of them saw them though. They only saw each other.

Louis swallowed.

As he drew his left hand back to his side, Harry finally moved. He caught Louis’ hand with his and held it near his face, while still never taking his doe eyes off Louis’.

Then slowly, too slowly, Harry drew Louis’ fingers to his mouth. 

He let Louis’ index and middle fingers fall on his bottom lip, let the weight of them drag it downwards. He loosened his jaw and opened his mouth as Louis’ fingers pulled down his lip. 

Louis watched intently, marking how the inner of Harry’s lip was so wet. He would probably taste of licorice now, but the sight reminded him more of bitten strawberries. Pink and wet and perfectly sweet.

Harry tightened his grip on Louis’ hand and pulled his fingers back up into his mouth. Onto his tongue.

It was wide, flat, soft. Wet. Louis couldn’t help but roll his eyes back this time. A shock of heat washed through him again and he was all too aware of how much he throbbed. How much his whole body throbbed. Harry pushed Louis’ fingers in deeper, till they touched the back of his tongue, and then finally he closed his mouth.

Louis felt Harry move his tongue slowly, sensually, around his fingers and, like the knife before, imagined what it would be like if it were his cock instead. Harry was so wet, so warm, all around him. His trousers felt too tight. So tight it almost hurt.

He was aching to touch himself. Or be touched by Harry.

Harry suddenly tightened his mouth and sucked on Louis’ fingers, letting his cheeks hollow and his teeth graze skin, and Louis actually jolted forwards. His hips pulled him without warning and Harry smirked around Louis’ fingers.

Harry let his mouth go lax again and swirled his tongue around and it was just so  _ wet _ . Then he pulled away so Louis’ fingers came out glistening. Harry’s lips were glistening too, wet and shiny, and he bit his lip and Louis felt himself lurch forwards again.

“Do you like that?” Harry whispered innocently, letting his tongue come out and slowly lick his lip.

Louis could only nod.

“Good,” Harry whispered again. “I like it too.”

Then he licked a stripe up the underside of Louis’ fingers and drew him back into his mouth, pushing so the tips of his fingers went to the back of Harry’s throat. Louis could feel the soft cushion of the roof of Harry’s mouth dip down to meet his fingernails. It was so far into Harry’s mouth. As far as Louis could reach. And it was obscene. Harry didn’t even flinch. He just gazed up at Louis with wide, wet eyes.

Then, without taking those eyes off of Louis, Harry used his left hand to press a finger to Louis’ belt. Delicately, he held it there for a passing moment and then began to draw a line down past his drawstrings and over the outline of his cock.

Louis flinched at the feeling of it, his fingers moving suddenly as he did, but Harry didn’t protest. He just moved his mouth with him so he could suckle on Louis’ fingers perfectly.

Harry suddenly yanked on Louis’ belt, pulling the leather out of the first half of the buckle like he’d done this a million times before. Like he knew Louis’ trousers like his own. He was rough with it, yanking Louis’ hips forward in the process, but Louis wasn’t going to complain. He  _ wanted  _ Harry to manhandle him.

Then Harry finally let Louis’ fingers fall from his mouth. He didn’t lick away the saliva on his lips as he said, “I want to  _ almost _ finish you like this.”

He didn’t wait for Louis to reply, instead he used both his hands to roughly pull Louis’ belt completely off. It fell to the floor, his gun and knives landing heavily. 

Louis’ trousers took a bit more work. Harry had to untie the drawstrings that held them together. Eventually he got it and he found it in himself to be delicate again. Painfully so. He glanced back up at Louis and then held his eyes. Slowly, he pulled Louis’ trousers to his knees.

Louis’ cock bounced heavily. Already thick and wet on the end.

As Harry let his eyes fall on it, Louis swore he could pinpoint the exact moment Harry lost his breath.

Harry simply looked at it for a moment. Whether he was afraid to touch it or merely taking it in, Louis wasn’t at first sure. But his fears were torn up when Harry licked his lips and looked up to smile at him.

“You’re gorgeous, darling,” he purred. “How do you like it?”

“How— how do I like it?” Louis barely managed. He’d never been asked before. Not without coin involved.

“Mm,” Harry hummed. “I want to please you so you feel good. I want to do what you dream of. Do you like it soft or hard? Deep? Do you like to be touched elsewhere as well?”

“I—” Louis breathed. He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. Instead, he could only feel hot flashes wash over his body as he thought of all the ways Harry could do this. He wanted them all. “What— what do you like?”

“What do I like when it’s me, or what do I like to do with my mouth?”

“Both,” Louis whispered. He couldn’t help but hook his thumb over Harry’s lip and stare as he smiled around it.

Harry lapped at his thumb and then pulled it away so he could answer. “When it’s me, I like it teasing. I like to be kissed everywhere but on my cock until I can’t take it, and then I like it soft at first and eventually harder, all the while you press fingers against me. Or into me. I like it to be overwhelming.”

Louis’ eyes fluttered as he imagined Harry twisting in the bed, hands balled into fists around the quilts, as he had mouths and fingers all over him. Louis’ gut clenched and he shivered.

Harry liked seeing it. He smiled as Louis’ squirmed. He hadn’t even touched him yet.

“When it’s others,” Harry added once he caught Louis’ eyes again, “I like to do whatever they love. I just like making them feel good. I can take my time and be gentle or you can fuck my mouth if you want.”

Louis’ shivered again at the mention of  _ fuck _ and  _ mouth _ , but it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Harry to have his way with him, to do whatever he liked until Louis was a writhing mess.

He wanted to please Harry too.

“Do you like it rough, then?” Louis asked, voice wavering.

“Sometimes,” Harry whispered. “If that’s what you want.”

Louis shook his head, “What do  _ you _ want? Do you like being dominant or submissive or neither, or?”

“I like it all,” Harry said, soft smile on his lips as he absentmindedly put his right hand around the base of Louis’ cock. “I like to share.”

Louis bit his lip and looked down at Harry. It was hard not to touch him when Harry had finally put his hands on him, so he clasped his hand to the base of Harry’s head. He felt Harry’s hair around his fingers and it was hard not to let it cloud his mind. His hair, somehow, was soft. Bouncy. As though the salt air had never touched it. But he managed, through the ecstasy of it all to push out another question.

“Do you like to fuck or be fucked?”

Harry started to slowly, lightly, move his hand up and down Louis’ cock as he answered. His tone was easy. “I like how overwhelming my orgasms are when I’m fucked, but at some point I would love to see you feel that too. I want to see how pretty you are when I make you come from inside. If you want that.”

Louis couldn’t help it, he had to close his eyes and bite his lips to stop himself from coming right then and there. He wanted Harry to fuck him because he loved that feeling too, but as Harry just mentioned it, he would want to give that feeling to someone else and know it was because of him. He wanted to see Harry’s hair splayed out, cheeks pink, lips red, as he came up his own stomach. He wanted to put Harry on his front, mirror in front of them, so he could see Harry press his face into the quilt and then throw it back in ecstasy. He wanted to see it all.

“Do you want me to fuck you, then?” Louis asked, finally opening his eyes again. “And you fuck me later?”

Harry didn’t reply.

Instead, he opened his mouth and let his tongue lay flat over his lip as he drew Louis’ cock into it. Louis had to let out a deep, shaky breath as Harry took him all the way in. It was so much better than when he had just his fingers in Harry’s mouth. Now his warmth and wetness seemed to envelope Louis tenfold. His tongue felt softer. 

Louis couldn’t help but quiver and push his hips forward.

Harry didn’t complain. He took him in happily, his eyes lazily half-shutting.

When it seemed Harry was satisfied that Louis had settled into the feeling of his mouth, he finally answered his question about being the first to be fucked with a low, hearty hum.

The vibrations of it sent shivers up Louis’ skin and he grabbed Harry’s hair a little tighter. His fingers caught on the threads of Harry’s necklaces and Louis thought he’d very much like to give Harry a necklace of his own. A pearl one. Shiny and wet, to be wiped away with a finger and pressed to Harry’s tongue.

Harry moved his head back into Louis’ palm, mouth opening back up so only the tip of Louis’ cock rested on his tongue. Then, almost moving his head against Louis’ hand like a cat, he licked at Louis’ tip, tongue swirling all around it and then focusing on the underside. Right where it was most sensitive.

Harry stayed like that for a while, purring against Louis as he happily licked at his tip, hands gently pulling him up and down as he did so. But soon it became apparent that Harry was pining too, that he needed some kind of relief. Not to come, but to be touched in any manner. And with his hands tied up, he couldn’t stroke Louis and touch himself too. So he pulled Louis closer so his thigh went high up between his legs. Where he could grind up against him.

Louis could feel the thick line of Harry’s cock in his trousers. It was so hard and so breathtaking. Louis wanted to feel it with his fingers, the palm of his hands, his tongue. He wanted to do to Harry exactly what Harry was doing to him.

As Harry rolled his hips against Louis, he pressed his mouth back down over the shaft of his cock, taking him in so Louis’ tip touched the back of his throat. He started to move up and down rhythmically, taking Louis all the way in and then all the way out. As though Louis was slowly, softly fucking him. Louis could feel how Harry’s mouth was getting wetter — he wasn’t giving himself a moment to pull off and swallow back his spit. It seemed Harry didn’t even need to breath, that his jaw didn’t get sore either, and Louis wondered how often he’d done this, how often he used his mouth on men for so long they came down his throat with heaving breaths while Harry remained perfectly wet and content and staring up at them with glossy eyes.

Because Harry’s eyes were glossy. Like he was feeling the strain of lapping at Louis so continuously, but that he didn’t care all that much to do anything about it. He simply kept bobbing his head as the embers in Louis’ gut flickered and grew. Grew so much he pressed his left hand to Harry’s neck too. This one lower, further forwards, so his thumb rested against the edge of Harry’s jaw and he could feel it move with every pull.

Harry pulled back again, this time taking his tongue completely away. And finally he swallowed and licked his lips. 

“Tell me what you want,” Harry said. His voice was low, husky, as though every delicious lick of Louis’ cock wrecked him a little more.

“Keep going,” was all Louis could manage. He didn’t need to be teased, kissed and prodded like Harry had mentioned as being his own taste. Just the feeling of Harry touching Louis  _ anywhere _ was enough to get him to the end.

That didn’t stop Harry from using his hands too though. He pulled Louis’ trousers right down so he could step out of them, and that’s when Harry latched onto the inner of Louis’ thigh. It was hard to explain just what it was that Harry was doing except to say that it sent waves through Louis that felt deep, like an itch being scratched. Neither soft nor painful, but perfectly firm and oh so unwinding.

First, Harry licked a stripe up Louis’ cock. Relaxed and confident. Then, he moved his tongue to Louis’ balls, pressing his nose into the small thicket of Louis’ pubic hair as he lapped at them. And then finally his fingers came to press into Louis’ perineum. Immediately, it turned Louis into a shuddering mess. He’d never been touched like this before. It was like Harry was teasing before he would inevitably rub Louis’ arsehole instead, but there was nothing half-way about this feeling. It was all-consuming on its own, and Louis wasn’t sure he’d survive Harry fingering him at all after it.

He couldn’t help but flinch and thrust forwards, pushing his cock into Harry’s awaiting mouth. He took him gladly, sucking hard on him as Louis’ legs half gave out and rocked back and forwards.

Harry hummed delightfully around him and then, awfully, took his hands from Louis’ skin. He gave Louis one final firm suck and then fell back onto the bed as he popped off.

“Louis,” he said, voice somehow more gravelly than it was before. “Help me.”

He motioned towards the ties of his own trousers and Louis was more than happy to oblige. Especially if it meant Harry might use his fingers again.

Louis tried to untie Harry’s trousers quickly but the bastard had done them in a double knot and Louis’ fingers were flustered, flighty. He could feel thunder, lightning, rolling along them.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. Harry’s cock was right there, he could see it pressing harshly against the leather of his trousers, and the feeling of not being able to get to it was hellish.

Harry looked down at him and breathed out, “Cut it.”

“Cut it?”

“Yeah, cut it. Get your fucking knife and cut it.”

“I— You—” Louis stammered, brain kicking out of gear at the thought of slashing those blasted trousers away from Harry, away from Louis getting his hands all over him.

Louis quickly reached down to his belt on the floor and produced the tiny dagger he’d had to Harry’s throat the night before. And, to be honest, Louis wasn’t sure he could do this. His hands weren’t steady. He had so much fire pulsing through his blood that his shaky hands surely wouldn’t let up. 

But Harry was looking up at him like there was absolutely no other option.

So Louis cut away at Harry’s trousers. He split apart the drawstrings and then cut lines down from his waistband, and by some stroke of luck, Louis was able to get them off.

Harry’s cock was breathtaking. And daunting.

By all accounts, Louis knew that he himself was packing a fair amount of arsenal. He knew what it was like to have to take longer to prepare his partners, to coax them into fucking  _ him _ when they seemed a little too intimidated. But Harry. Harry was taller than Louis, broader too, and his cock was much the same. Louis knew he could fit both of his hands on it, and then still have enough room to lick the head of his penis.

He knew, because that’s what he did. He wrapped both hands around Harry’s cock selfishly and licked a hungry stripe over the tip of his cock. Harry had said he liked to be teased, liked to be lead on a winding road to his orgasm, but Louis couldn’t help himself. They’d both just endured enough playing around already, Louis’ in Harry’s mouth and Harry against Louis’ thigh.

Louis still made sure to quickly pull away and whisper, “I promise I’ll give you a proper one, but can I be selfish now? I just want you in my mouth. I just want you to fill me. I just  _ want you _ .”

Harry half smiled and he almost looked delirious because Louis wasted no time in returning his mouth, his throat, to Harry’s cock. Louis took him in completely and savoured the way it slid up his tongue into the back of his throat as Harry finally managed to say, “I want you to fill me too.”

Louis swirled his tongue as he bobbed his head back up to the head of his cock as Harry then added, “I want you to fuck me, please.”

The please came out as a whine.

So Louis went to do just that. He kept sucking deeply as he reached up and pressed his fingers back into Harry’s mouth, where Harry licked them generously and gave him enough saliva to put his fingers down between Harry’s thighs. Harry lifted his knees so that Louis could get towards his hole.

He was warm back there. It was the first thing Louis noticed besides the throb it sent through his own cock to be touching Harry between his arse checks. The next thing he noticed was how Harry fluttered beneath him as he gently pressed a wet finger against his hole. His whole body fluttered. His back momentarily left the bed and his head turned into it and his hands grabbed the quilt next to him.

A small guttural sound escaped him, stilted and whining.

Louis smiled over the tip of Harry’s cock as he watched him, moving his fingers a little more so another sound would escape him.

He hoped Liam wasn’t next door.

Slowly, as Louis continued to go down on Harry like it was the only thing keeping him alive, he gently pushed his middle finger up into him. So slowly that Louis could feel his hole flutter and clench with every millimetre. 

Harry whined and Louis didn’t know him well enough to know if it was good or bad, so he slowed the press of his fingers and loosened the hollow of his cheeks.

That only made Harry whine more.

And push himself down onto Louis’ fingers, into his mouth.

Louis’ skin shivered as he felt Harry’s cock push into the back of his throat. His eyelashes fluttered as he felt Harry’s silky hole slide down to his second knuckle.

Then he felt Harry shiver too as he came up against the bump in Louis’ finger, a sparking fizz that made him breathe shakily and writhe in the bed. 

Louis pressed into him more, turning his finger softly as he swirled his tongue in tandem. Then he pulled out with a heartier twist, smooth and confident, and he had to actually lift his mouth away from Harry’s cock altogether to cope with the perfect jolt it sent through Harry’s spine.

Louis replaced his mouth with the free hand he had so he could placate the throb of Harry’s cock while he focused on his hole. He gently pulled up and down, stroking too with his thumb, as he pushed his finger back in.

With each push and pull, his hands moving in time, Louis grew faster, less delicate with his fingers. And with each movement, Harry came apart even more.

He was beautiful, lying there in the bed with his hands tied and his eyes glossy. And Louis wanted to look like that too, he wanted to be held down to the bed by the sheer fact that his hole would be too overwhelmed to move.

But Louis wouldn’t ask to switch, because it did just as much for him to see Harry play that part too. Louis would quite happily never be fucked again if it meant making Harry this beautiful, this happy.

He was whining still beneath him, whimpers turning into breathy moans. He’d started rolling his hips with every thrust of Louis’ finger.

Louis decided to add another.

His index finger.

He slowed his rhythm and tentatively added the second finger. Harry didn’t even seem to notice, he just kept rolling his hips and breathing his low, shaky moans.

“More,” Harry managed, voice breaking.

And though his voice didn’t sound like he could take it, his words and his hips were enough.

So Louis pressed his fingers downwards, against the tight edge of Harry’s hole where he could hope to give him more, widen him up enough. He moved his fingers in circles, and Harry let out a proper, decent moan and strained against his cuffs.

Louis shakily hushed him with a breathy smile and continued his twirling.

Harry replied with another moan, slightly quieter than the last but not by much. Then he pushed out a, “I want you in— in me.”

“Are you sure?” Louis whispered to him.

Harry nodded and stuttered, “Ye— yes— now.”

So Louis removed his fingers, planted a wet kiss to the edge of Harry’s knee and stood up to race to his wooden chest. It was there that he kept a small corked bottle of oil. As soon as he got back to the bed, Louis jumped into the middle of it and tugged around Harry’s legs so the bedpost and his hands were above his head and his legs were bent around either side of Louis’ hips.

The chessboard and pieces fell to the ground as Harry was yanked around, though neither of them took much notice. They were too busy grinning at each other. Louis’ chest was aflutter and his skin was hot, because this was already so great, so fun. They could please each other and it would be honest, guttural, wanting, and playful too. Harry was biting his lip and smiling up at him, like he was finally getting the one thing he’d wanted this whole time.

As though this was never about power or celebrity or the taking of Louis’ ship, and instead it was about taking his cock.

As though Harry had done everything in his power to be tied up and splayed out, waiting to be filled up.

Louis winked at Harry and earned back a giggle. Then he softly slapped the side of Harry’s hip and asked, genuinely, “Are you ready, darling Harry?”

“Yes,  _ darling _ ,” he replied.

And then Harry winked back.

Louis pulled the cork out of the bottle with a pop and he felt his heart pop too. This was about to happen,  _ for real _ , and he knew already it would be better than any image he could conjure up in his mind.

“I have one requirement, though,” Harry added as Louis sat back onto his knees and spilled oil onto his fingers.

“Mm?” Louis hummed, glancing up quickly.

“I’ll tell you when you’re in me,” Harry grinned, shifting so he was more available, his knees wider apart.

Louis grinned to himself, smile tucked into his chin as he reached to his bedside table to safely leave the open bottle and cork. He came back to Harry and smoothed the oil over his own cock. He let his eyes flit from his fingers over his cock to the crease of Harry’s arse to his eyes, green and narrow and watching Louis intently.

Louis let his eyes stay on Harry’s as he wiped the last of the oil down into the space between Harry’s legs. He smiled as Harry’s eyes had to leave his, had to close so that he could take a breath.

Then, finally, Louis leaned down over Harry’s torso so their faces were centimetres apart, his elbow propped up on the bed next to Harry’s head. And he pushed himself in.

A hot wave of air rushed over Louis as his cock slid into Harry. It was completely overwhelming and he had to go slowly just to stop himself from coming.

Harry, underneath, had his eyes pointed up to his brows. His eyelids were fluttering and so was his hole. Louis could feel it so intensely.

He felt white hot, as white as the skin around Harry’s wrists as he pulled against his restraints. He was gripping them like they were ropes to the lifeboat and he was drowning, so Louis slowed right down and took his hand from his cock so he could delicately brush the hair from Harry’s forehead.

Harry said he liked to be overwhelmed, but Louis still wanted to make sure he wasn’t actually going to hurt him.

Harry simply muttered, “All the way.”

So Louis slowly, carefully pressed himself the rest of the way in.

Then, when finally the brush of Louis’ pubic hair was flattened against Harry’s arse cheeks, Harry was able to breath out again. He sounded like he’d been holding it in. He looked up at Louis and whispered, “My requirement.”

“What is it?” Louis smiled down at him, not ignoring the way his own fringe brushed against Harry’s brow. They were so close. Harry’s face was cast in shadow from Louis’. His eyes seemed so wide this close up, so bright. Louis could see how the capillaries in his cheeks had turned pink, how he’d gotten so flushed.

Harry blinked once up at him and whispered, “Can you please kiss me?”

Louis let out his own flushed smile and wondered how it was that they hadn’t already. It seemed like the first thing they should have done. They should have grabbed each other’s faces and pulled the other in harshly, sucking on their lips like they were parched. Like they knew nothing but the craving of lips against lips, tongues against tongues.

But that’s not how they kissed now.

Instead, Louis bit his lip and nodded. Then he gently closed the few breaths between them and lay his lips against Harry’s. They both smiled into it, lips smoothing out flat for a moment before Louis softened his again and pulled Harry’s lips between his.

Louis kissed Harry slowly but wantingly, letting their lips move together like rolling waves. It didn’t take long for their tongues to meet like the tide, a meandering in and out, a soft swipe. Harry tasted like licorice, just as Louis had suspected, and the earthy taste flattered him. It made him taste grounded, like an anchor, and Louis was not going to let go.

He let his hands make their way up to Harry’s hands, clasping both of them between each of his. Harry grabbed his hands back, squeezing on them until Louis finally gave a tentative thrust of his hips. It was a gentle, exploratory one, and Louis’ knees would have buckled beneath him if the underside of Harry’s thighs weren’t pressed up against him.

So, instead, he clasped Harry’s hands tighter and kissed him deeper.

Louis thrusted into Harry slowly; prolonged so that the passion wasn’t lost on them. So that Louis could focus on the hands in his as much as the skin around him. 

Despite the cuffs and the belt and the bedpost, and all the conversations that had come before this, it didn’t just feel like fucking. There was something more there, something easy, something that felt like they’d done this a million times before and yet like every time would feel like the first.

Louis’ gut was in tight coils as he kissed and thrusted into Harry, building on his momentum so he could bite Harry’s lips and start to bounce against his thighs. They began to move so happily, so rapidly, that Louis found himself thankful that he was on the ship and that no one would suspect anything more than the hull breaking shallow waves. Surely, if someone were to hold their ear to their door, they would assume that the slap of skin against skin were merely the rhythmic tap of Louis pacing the room.

The moans were a touch less inconspicuous.

Harry had started to breath out low moans and Louis had to pull back his lips so Harry could let them out most deliciously. Even Louis couldn’t help but cough up a few stilted moans, catching in his chest as his hips met Harry’s thighs.

He leaned back then, delighting in the sight and sound of Harry coming undone beneath him, and brought one hand to Harry’s leg and the other to his cock. He stroked him up and down and immediately Harry arched his back from the bed.

“I— I’m gonna—” Harry stuttered, lips as wet as his eyes. “Are you close?”

Louis couldn’t reply because he was. Harry’s hair lay in a soft halo around his head and his kissed, bitten lips were puffy and slick. His cock was hot and heavy in Louis’ hand and the tight grip of Harry’s arse was enough to know that if Harry came, Louis would too. He was moments away.

So he half-nodded and slid his hand up Harry’s cock a little faster, rougher. He wanted Harry to come. He wanted to feel the ball of white fire build in Harry’s hole and spurt out in glistening streams, melting into the pearls along his necklaces.

Harry pulled hard on the restraints around his wrists and Louis almost worried about him cutting his rope burns but Harry didn’t give him the chance. He let out a spluttering moan as he threw back his head and the belt around the bedpost cracked as he yanked down on it with a strangled, “ _ Fuck _ .”

And then Harry came.

Louis felt like he blacked out, the feeling was so intense. The clench of Harry’s hole, the throbbing pulse of Harry’s cock, the explicit snap of Harry’s voice. It hit Louis like a tidal wave, dark and ferocious. Delicious. As though the heat of Harry’s orgasm washed right out of him all at once and shot right into Louis’ gut. Louis couldn’t help it, he couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t let the sight of Harry’s face burn delightfully into his memory. All he could do was close his eyes and let Harry’s orgasm meet his, and take him out to sea and drown him in the swirling foam of his ecstasy. 

Louis’ body shuddered as he came into Harry, barely a second after Harry convulsed beneath him. Then he fell to Harry’s chest, heaving and too spent to care about the come up Harry’s shirt. It would seep into Louis’ beloved black shirt and stain it with new, dangerous memories and all Louis could focus on was the way Harry was breathing hard against him.

They lay there for a few moments, simply feeling their heatbearts pulse hard and in time with each other. Louis could lie there for eternity but soon the feeling of his cock still in Harry’s hole became too overwhelming. He was too sensitive to the touch, which was nice with Harry’s warm skin against his cheek, but unbearable for his spent cock. Begrudgingly, Louis shifted his hips to slip himself out and then there, as cool relief washed over him, he collapsed back onto Harry contentedly.


	4. EMERALD

**EMERALD**

Louis woke slowly and peacefully. There was something warm against his cheek, something almost too hot. It was comforting though, like sun through a window or the flicker of fire on a shore. It was so comforting in fact that Louis made no effort to even lift his head and see what it was, preferring instead to groggily smack his lips and rub a knuckle to the inner corner of his eyes. Gently, he let his hand fall back down and let the warmth consume him entirely again.

It wasn’t until something shifted beneath him that he began to stir again, began to let his eyes flutter a mere moment. It felt like ribs, like skin, shifting. Louis licked his lips and blinked his eyes apart. 

Harry came into view, blurry and close, and Louis came to the realisation that he must have fallen asleep atop him. He couldn’t work out how long it had been but as Harry came more into focus, Louis could see that his eyes were shut too. They had fallen asleep together.

Louis tucked an arm around Harry’s waist and quietly pulled himself closer. It was almost silent around them. Louis could hear nothing bar the distant creak of wood and mast, of chatter and laughter. No one knew that he was here like this. No one knew that Louis lay in the arms of a beautiful rival. Harry had fallen asleep with the knowledge that Louis was on him, but he would not know that Louis had woken and drawn himself closer.

It felt like Louis was taking something for himself, stealing something from Harry, as he thumbed the edge of Harry’s shirt. It was such a mindless act, but it felt too intimate. Something that only the betrothed would do. Louis considered pulling his hand away, pulling himself away altogether, but in Harry’s slumber he allowed himself to stay. If Louis closed his eyes and listened only to the snap of sails in the wind he could pretend he was sailing towards the horizon, a honeymoon on the other side. The warm body next to him would be a husband, someone he were allowed to love in a perfect world. But that was not Louis’ world, and he was not allowed to love nor marry the only kind of person he would be happy with. So he didn’t try to pretend at all. Instead he allowed himself the only kind of respite that came with living as a sodomite in this life, he felt the comfort and the intimacy and did not think about the future. About what would indefinitely come next. He took his stolen love and held it to his chest for the short moment he was allowed to pretend he had it.

Louis curled closer still to Harry, excuse already on his lips that he’d merely moved that way in his sleep, and drifted away into unconsciousness again. 

When Louis woke the third time, it was with a jolt. Like thunder had struck him, a storm in the middle of a sunny afternoon. He wasn’t even sure what caused it, but one minute he was asleep and the next he was blinking away the thudding of his chest.

The first thing that caught his eye was Harry. He was still lying underneath him, except now he was giving Louis a curious look. Like he had questions of what mare Louis just endured. Not only that, though, he had a hand curled around the book on his chest and one in Louis’ hair.

Harry’s fingertips were soft, delicate spindles in the end of his hair, stroking with the same meandering daze as Harry’s nap-heavy eyes.

It took Louis too long to realize what that meant. 

Harry’s hands weren’t tied up.

Louis shot back up, hand catching the edge of Harry’s shirt as he struck it out. He looked at Harry like he’d just pulled a flintlock on him, shock and confusion and fear streamed through him.

“Wha—” Louis managed, too sleepy to get the words out. It was then that he realised that Harry was wearing an entirely different shirt now too, it was one from Louis’ drawer. A maroon button up with gentle folds along the neck. It had lifted as Louis had sat up and Harry’s laurel tattoos peeked out from underneath. 

Louis’ hand flew unconsciously to the key he kept around his neck. It was still there. And yet, Harry’s restraints were not.

Finally, Louis got the words out. He spat them as he pushed himself back from Harry, scrambling to the edge of the bed. “You’ve unlocked yourself! You’ve fucking unlocked yourself without my permission, you—”

He had to yank a quilt off the bed with him as he stood. He felt precarious as he did it, caught off guard, suddenly all too aware that he’d slept with Harry without trousers on. Louis felt naked, like he’d let his walls down too much. Harry had started to take what he wanted without asking, without checking. Without  _ waking _ him. 

Betrayal seeped into Louis’ voice as he pulled the edge of the quilt around his middle. “You could have woken me! What have you gone and done!” Louis’ voice caught on itself, tripping, as thoughts of Plymouth swirled in his mind. Thoughts of the trap he’d let himself get caught in on that beach, of every other time he’d ever let himself be taken advantage of.

Louis felt angry and aghast and worst of all, he felt small.

Harry must have noticed because suddenly he was standing and that didn’t help at all because Harry was so much taller, broader. He didn’t make Louis feel any bigger.

“I’m sorry, Louis. I can explain,” Harry said, dropping his book to the bed as he started walking to Louis. “I thought of waking you. I did try for a moment, but I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve stolen your bed for too many nights. But I woke with my hands numb, my wrists hurt. I was scared they would cut again—”

“You should have woken me,” Louis replied sharply, taking a step back, his feet catching in the quilt. “My sleep is not worth the same as your freedom.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, as though it would help.

“You should be,” Louis replied bitterly. “You should have woken me, I would have said yes.”

“Then what is the difference?” Harry looked genuinely confused, like he didn’t understand why not waiting for Louis’ approval was so horrible.

“The difference,” Louis said, taking another step backwards so his back hit the wall, “is that you took it upon yourself to make that decision for me. You mistook my fondness of you for trust, and now you have thrown it out altogether. Need I not remind you that you are a prisoner on this ship, and I am your captor? Have you chosen to forget that or are you simply naive?”

Harry reached his hands to Louis’ forearms, placing them atop them and making Louis flinch. “Does us sharing our bodies not change that? Did I not leave my shackles the moment you touched my lips with yours?” Harry looked down at him pleadingly and then repeated, voice hushed, “Did I not?”

Louis swallowed and cast his eyes on the ground. He could feel Harry want to lift his knuckle to his chin and raise Louis’ eyes back to his, as though he were simply a lover bruised. It felt like defeat to admit it but Louis saw no other way, his blades were across the room. Quietly, he replied, “You did, and that is the problem.”

“A problem?” Harry cautiously asked.

“Yes, a problem. For now I would be cruel to tie you back up.”

“Are you not a pirate? Why does morality concern you?” Harry asked, a gentle, prodding smile suddenly growing on his lips. Like he was trying to lure out a childish grin from Louis’.

Louis let his eyes rise incredulously to Harry’s. He was suspicious of his tone, too at ease at the sight of an angered Louis. “Do you  _ want _ me to tie you back up?”

“I want you to trust me. I want you to know that my mistake was not made out of slyness. I will do anything for you to know that, you scare me otherwise.”

“I scare you?” Louis asked sourly, a scoff almost breaching his lips. He did not believe it.

“Yes,” Harry admitted. It was all he said.

Louis tersed his brow and raised his chin, not satisfied with that answer. “Why?”

“I don’t want you to kill me, I know that you can.”

“Not without a good fight,” Louis let slip. It came out too quickly, too much like he was the one trying to placate their conversation.

“No, of course not,” Harry smiled, “but there are not many that are capable of taking me.”

Louis took a long breath for himself and mulled over what Harry was saying, the fact that he would let Louis tie him back up if it meant that his anger were mended. But that did not sit right with Louis, Harry had been right to assume that their game had changed when they had kissed. Earlier than that, in fact. It had changed when Harry had dropped the chess piece off the bed. Perhaps though, it had never been a game at all. Perhaps Louis had misjudged everything. Harry had said that he made everything up as he went along, seemingly making his fortunes on sheer luck and beauty alone. Louis wasn’t sure that he believed it though, there had to be more to Harry than what Louis had heard and seen. There was a reason he was the  _ fox of the seas _ , slippery and sharp. Harry looked strong, but he was not of the same burly physique of the captains who could use brute alone to win fights.

But all Louis saw when he looked at Harry now was someone quick witted, fallible, and immeasurably honest. He was almost too human to be a captain, but too otherworldly to be anything but.

Harry’s captaincy, his success, had to be built on something Louis hadn’t at all considered.

Louis’ thoughts came back to the man in front of him with the hands on his arms. They hadn’t left as Louis had stared up at Harry, mind cast in every direction. Thoughtfully, Louis breathed out, “What am I supposed to do now, Harry? I don’t want to tie you back up, we both know that was merely a facade, but you must learn not to take advantage of me again. Trust is a thing you earn, not take.”

“I’ve already learned my lesson,” Harry confessed. “I’m sorry.”

“And you must always ask me before you do something else reckless like going outside, or jumping ship.”

Harry grinned down at him, loosely now. Entirely at ease. “I promise. I’ll ask you this, then.”

“Mm?”

“May I kiss you?”

Louis wanted him to — Harry’s lips were sweeter than any fruit, any treasure — but Louis would not be so easily taken. He did not know what game Harry played, if any at all, but he would still vow to play his own. Whatever action he took in regards to Harry’s misstep would punctuate any mistake in the future. There were things such as precedents.

“Not yet,” Louis said softly, pushing back off the wall so that he could press into Harry, start pushing him back to the bed with the quilt dragging behind him. “But you may grovel.”

“Grovel?” Harry asked as Louis shoved him back down onto the bed.

Louis didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his left hand daintily, limply, so that his fingers hung towards the ground. He raised it till it was mere centimetres from Harry’s face, and when he got there he said nothing further still, waiting expectantly for Harry to catch on. To attempt to woo his heart as though Louis were a lady in waiting.

Harry glanced down at the hand before him and took his time to understand. His eyes flickered back up to Louis’ waiting face and then slowly he drew his own hand to delicately catch the underside of Louis’ fingers. He kept his eyes up on Louis as he brought his lips to Louis’ knuckles. He closed them as he kissed him.

“Is that what you want, darling?” Harry whispered before placing another single kiss to his knuckles.

“It is some.”

“Tell me what else it is you require.” Harry’s words felt charged, as though he was offering himself up for favours of Louis’ unwinding. As though he would happily drop to his knees and beg for Louis’ forgiveness with the wetness of his tongue.

But sexual favours weren’t a currency Louis took.

Louis raised his hand from Harry’s grasp and instead placed it under Harry’s chin, lifting until Harry’s gaze was a steady weight. “You can read to me.”

And so Harry read.

* * *

  
  


Because the Black Dagger was sailing eastward, the window at the rear of the ship cast a warm square of light over Louis’ bed as dusk approached. It bled the pages of the  _ Willow’s Grace _ orange as Harry read from it, and Louis found himself bleeding into Harry’s words. His gravelly voice was warmed so sweetly in the setting sun. It was easy to forget how they had gotten there, their quarrel was almost entirely forgotten. The sun on Louis’ skin and the fingers that Harry stroked down the thigh that Louis had eventually laid across his middle all made it simply too easy to forget.

It was, however, much less easier to forget what might come in the future. For as Harry read, as he flipped through chapters, Louis could see the pin prick tear stains that he himself had left across those very pages. Harry was coming up to the very end of the book, where Willow and Grace found their solace and a freedom that they had built  _ together _ . Each tear stain across each page was another reminder that all Louis ever really wanted was a world for his own, a lover for his own, and that he would never be guaranteed either of those things for as long as he were alive.

Especially so when his newfound lover was a man that could never leave his ship alive. Harry had taken the lives of too many of Louis’ crew. Their friends, and their own lovers. He had taken Niall’s leg. And although pirates were not particularly caught up on the question of morality, favouring instead the grey spaces that existed between right and wrong, good and bad, Louis knew that they would see no right in the man that Louis had become enamoured with.

As Harry read through the very last chapter, a bittersweet ending, Louis mulled over the ways in which his own ending would come. Either Harry would be discovered and he’d be killed, perhaps Louis would too, or he’d get off this ship with no way to be let back on. If this were to continue, their little world of quilts and sun and sex, it would surely have to be done in secret, or Louis would have to turn his back on piracy altogether. He’d have to run from the life already created out of exile. If he were to run from his ship, only coin and a lover in tow, he’d have to invest all his happiness into one single soul. Into Harry. Because Harry would inevitably become his whole world.

And that was a big ask for a man he’d only known for three days.

It had sounded romantic when he’d first read Willow’s Grace, to run from everything and create a coven in the woods where no one but your better half encroached. To never see another living soul except for the one you knew wouldn’t hurt you, wouldn’t send you to the stake or the gallows or off the end of a plank.

Louis wasn’t so sure anymore.

So Louis vowed not to think of the future at all. He would not utter a word to Harry or Liam or Niall or even himself. He would simply enjoy the time he had until Senegal or Madagascar or wherever it was that this ended. He would take every little piece of forged, stolen love, and savour it until he found someone who was more than just an adventure. Someone who was more than just a single chapter in his own book.

Louis fought to remind himself that, as Harry read in his perfect voice in the perfect sunset with his perfect, exciting, naive character, he was not someone Louis would have for long. He was not someone to run away with. He was not someone to trust.

He was not even someone that Louis could even compare to lovable, for Harry was only a warm body to make Louis feel less lonely.

He had only known him three days, and they had merely parried and fucked and read.

It became harder to forget this as the days wore on.

As the Black Dagger sailed out of the Caribbean and into the Atlantic and her sails caught hold of the trade winds, Louis found himself being blown further and further into the clasp of Harry’s fingertips.

The first time Louis forgot that his affair had an expiry was when they got drunk together that very night. Harry had wandered to Louis’ dresser and asked that he could find Louis something new to wear. Because apparently Harry liked clothes just as much as Louis.

Louis let him. He was curious what he would choose, what Harry thought Louis best in.

Harry, of course, was not satisfied with anything in Louis’ drawers. They were all either too plain, too dark, or too big. Each shirt that Harry threw to Louis to try seemed to only earn a set of pursed lips and a shake of the head.

“You dress as though you’re as tall as me,” Harry remarked, rolling one of his necklace’s beads between his fingers.

“I dress  _ comfortably _ ,” Louis retorted. “It gets awfully warm, so hanging shirts give my skin room to breath.”

“That may be so, love, but they do nothing for your figure,” Harry smirked. “Just for one day, I want to see how your waist goes in. And if there’s nothing here, you’ll simply have to go shirtless. I’ll suffer through it, but I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Louis rolled his eyes affectionately and said, “My older shirts are smaller, they’re right at the bottom.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully but did not go back to the drawer. Instead, he turned to the chest on the ground. The one with Louis’ fanciest, most frivolous clothes. And the rest of all the things he did not care to share. Harry pointed and asked, “May I look in there? I know I saw feathers when you opened it last.”

Louis almost protested, but Harry  _ had  _ already seen the worst of what that chest contained. There would be no embarrassment in anything that wasn’t a leather set of cuffs nor oil, nor the waxy lengths of rope he had yet to use. So instead, he merely nodded. At least Harry had asked.

Harry wasted no time in dropping to his knees and opening the chest. The first thing he got his hands on was a small bottle of Mount Gay rum, its papery label was half torn and unreadable but it was the only stuff he had a taste for. It had been left in there from the last time Louis and Liam rifled through the chest. Harry practically glittered as he pulled it out. Immediately, he popped off the lid and threw some back. Once he finished his swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned to Louis with a grin and said, “This is the best bloody stuff. I always kept a bottle in every room — you never know when a party will erupt.”

“I’m glad you’re so… well acquainted,” Louis laughed. “It is bloody good stuff, always gets me hammered though.”

Harry grinned impishly and threw the bottle to Louis, “Well there’s no point in not sharing then.”

Louis smiled innocently as he took a swig and let the warmth fill his chest.

As they drank, Harry pulled out clothing, his face lighting up with every new marvel. A silk shawl came out and he wrapped it over his shoulders, flicking it up past his neck. A sheer, lacy shirt came out and he pulled off the shawl and his shirt and put that on instead. It was too small across his shoulders so he slipped it off with a frown and tossed it to Louis.

Louis took it graciously and passed back the bottle of rum. And so they swapped clothes and liquor and soon, kisses. And it wasn’t long before they were a mess of leather and lace and giggles. Louis sat on the edge of the bed and let Harry play with him, fixing his clothes into ridiculous assortments and kissing him wetly with every button he did and undid. Louis had done this so many times before, it was one of the few times he let down all his walls and just had fun.

But with Harry it was different.

Unlike Liam, Harry wasn’t shy of pulling on the skirts and dresses Louis kept at the bottom. He didn’t hesitate to twirl about the room, swinging around bedposts, as he sang songs about his man gone to sea.

As Harry spun and sung, he flitted a silken necktie behind him, draping it over books and trinkets and all of Louis’ belongings. He touched them like he was spinning magic. When he came to Louis, still at the edge of the bed, grinning and giddy, he pulled the tie around Louis’ shoulders and left it there so he could steal the leather hat that was on Louis’ head.

Then he put it on his own head and pranced away.

Louis fell back onto the bed and found himself completely at ease. The only thing that worried his mind was that the necktie smelled of tobacco pipes and not of Harry’s kisses. But he did not have to wait long. As Louis took another swig of their bottle and frowned when he found it empty, Harry crawled up his front and lay over him. His elbows rested either side of Louis’ head.

Harry kissed Louis’ forehead and then whispered, “You have all these wonderful clothes and you never wear them. You lock them away with your good rum and your  _ sex _ things.”

Louis smiled lazily up at him and whispered back, “Consider them amongst my most precious of possessions.”

“You’ll have to get a bigger chest soon then.” Harry grinned devilishly. He was definitely up to something.

Louis had no problem indulging him. “Why is that, darling?” he whispered.

“Because by the end of the week I will surely be your most precious thing in the world.”

Louis laughed under his breath. He leaned up and pecked the tip of Harry’s nose. “You are no  _ thing _ to keep.”

“And yet you’ve kept me,” Harry replied innocently.

Louis flicked the hat from Harry’s head and said back just as innocently, “I had no choice, my love. You would have done the same.”

“I would,” Harry said assuredly. “I would.”

And then they kissed, happily and drunkenly and not thinking of anything but the taste of rum on each other’s tongues and the scrub of their unshaven chins.

The second time Louis forgot about their inevitable end was when they were sat in the middle of the floor the next day. Harry was leaning forwards, up against the knee he had tucked to his chest, with an apple in his mouth. Louis, after a short appearance out on deck, was behind him, legs splayed out on either side of Harry’s hips.

He was cutting Harry’s hair.

Though he hadn’t got that far yet.

They’d been talking, and for a longer time than it felt. Talking came easily to them, with Harry’s musings on politics and the things he would do if he were king, and Louis’ thoughts on throwing a monarchy out altogether. So they’d been sat there for a good while, Louis simply running his hands through Harry’s hair while they shared fruit and feelings.

It was the first time Louis had cut someone else’s hair. He’d always cut his own, just above the brow. He never liked to fuss with his own hair being longer, it always got in his eyes — even when he’d tie it up. Most of the other men on board either kept it cropped to their scalp with a blade, or hacked away at it when it reached past their shoulders. Naturally, he felt a lot of pressure. But none of it came from Harry — he was quite content to let Louis do what he wanted.

What Louis  _ wanted _ was to keep running his hands through Harry’s hair and leave it as long as it was. There was no issue of the length being an annoyance when it wasn’t Louis’ eyes it would get in. And it suited Harry. He’d suggested leaving it so long when he’d first returned to Harry from outside, who was freshly shaved and combing through his hair in the mirror. Harry had insisted. He said the ends felt atrocious, too worn by the sea.

Harry plonked himself on the ground and Louis could do nothing but join him.

When he finally brought a pair of small shears to Harry’s hair, Louis made sure to only take off the smallest amount. It made Harry shiver every time he cut, and in the end Louis was quite proud of the job he’d done.

He brushed the cut hair from Harry’s back and then carefully collected Harry’s hair together so he could tie it with a small ribbon.

“I’m all done,” Louis softly said near the back of Harry’s ear. He caught the faintest edge of Harry’s smile as he reached up to feel his ponytail.

“It’s no shorter,” Harry said, leaning around to face Louis. He looked quizzed. 

Louis rested his hands on the indents of Harry’s waist. “I only cut away where your hair had split, is it no softer now?”

“It is, it is.” Harry smiled softly. As though Louis had weaved magic through his hair instead of shears. “How serendipitous that you should be so good at that.”

“I’m simply a man who is good with a blade,” Louis grinned back proudly.

“Or one who is good with his hands,” Harry chirped back, twisting more so he actually sat facing Louis. He put his legs over Louis’, hooked them around Louis’ waist, and then put an arm over Louis’ shoulder. Despite the filth in Harry’s words, to Louis this felt the most intimate they had ever been. As they sat there, forehead to forehead, legs around each other like a ribcage, it felt like they were one single beating heart.

“You are terrible,” Louis softly said with a gentle smile. “The absolute worst.”

“I’m simply a man who is good with his mouth,” Harry whispered, almost echoing the words Louis had just said. He bit his lip and Louis wanted to kiss the filth from them. He wanted to kiss only with sweetness, innocence. The kind of kiss he’d never had. His kisses were always taken in shadow, behind locked doors, in moments where the only things that flavoured them were teeth and fists and the promise of fucking.

Louis wanted only to kiss for the sake of kissing. For feeling the press and the comfort of someone who saw him merely for him.

“Harry,” Louis stated.

“Louis,” Harry repeated back, leaning forward to bump their noses together. He hooked his other arm around Louis’ neck so they wouldn’t float away from each other.

Louis gently squeezed the flesh of Harry’s waist and kissed Harry’s cheek. As delicately, as seriously as he could, Louis whispered, “May I kiss you?”

Harry’s face grew just as serious as he gently replied, “Of course, my love.”

Louis moved one of his hands from Harry’s waist to the side of his neck. Tenderly, he thumbed at the skin below his ear lobe as though he were considering all the ways he could bring their lips together. But Louis wasn’t considering anything at all; Louis was merely feeling the smooth pull of Harry’s freshly shaven skin and as he stared into his eyes. To look at Harry so closely was to be entirely disarmed. Even from so little distance, he was truly gorgeous. His skin was taut over his cheekbones, his lips were pouty but not pompous. His eyes were a milky green, though Louis had nothing to compare them to. The sea was too blue, the trees inland too green, and emeralds nowhere near as dazzling. 

If he were further away, Louis would have had the mind to stop and think of the words, but he wasn’t, and the only thing his lips could form was a kiss.

As Louis pressed their lips together, he knew he would never have a kiss feel the same. It was sparkling, warm and felt like he was being hugged. It felt like Harry was all consuming, pulling him and holding him close and simply  _ holding _ him. As though he didn’t need or want anything more than Louis’ lips over his. Should it have been Louis’ first kiss, he would never need a second.

Louis pulled away for merely a second, to catch his breath for Harry had taken it from him completely. He smiled to himself, biting his lip, and returned himself to Harry. As they kissed again, Louis felt it no differently. A complete wonder, Louis thought, that a second kiss could feel equally as lovely as the first.  _ This _ must be what people mean when they say they do not grow tired of saying  _ I love you _ . Louis would never grow tired of kissing if this is what it meant.

And so, Louis did not stop kissing Harry. And Harry did not stop kissing Louis, not until he delicately rested Louis’ back to the ground. He only pulled away for a second so that he could readjust himself, shifting his legs so he was resting on his knees on either side of Louis’ waist.

At no moment did Louis feel any pressure for it to be more than just kissing, more than a loving exploration of mouths. For Harry seemed to only press him into the ground so that he could move his hands from Louis’ shoulders and slot their fingers together.

And at no other moment did Louis’ mind start to drift to the fact that he would never have a moment like this again. He would not have this Harry for long, and he would never have another one after. Because Harry was lightning in a bottle, he was the crack of thunder in an evening summer sky trapped between Louis’ hands. He was beautiful and aweing and would only last a second. Louis would spend his life searching for another moment, another man to catch that lit up his sky like Harry.

His mind could have drifted there, but it didn’t. Because Harry’s mouth was on his and it was lovely and perfect and Louis really had no words that could entirely describe it. To try and put Harry’s lips into words would be to invent a new language. So instead of wondering and worrying and thinking so much, Louis thought of nothing at all. The sum of his mind was merely the feeling of Harry’s skin against him and the hard press of rings as Harry squeezed his fingers between Louis’.

* * *

  
  


Louis’ ecstasy did not last. 

Over the coming days, every time Louis stepped out on deck to talk with Liam or Niall or simply to make an appearance, the fresh air felt thick and suffocating. He was suddenly, violently hit with the unavoidable knowledge that the world he had made inside was at odds with that one outside. His crew saw him as someone sly and tricky, but ultimately trustworthy and with their best interest at heart. They were on the ins with him, a part of his team, but they weren’t anymore. Louis was playing the most dangerous game he had ever encountered, yet he could not give up on it because whilst the air outside was so stifling, the air inside was so freeing.

And it was so freeing to talk to Harry. 

They found themselves one morning in the bed they so easily shared, tangled up and naked, reading aloud the next book they plucked from the shelf. Harry had begged Louis to read too, admitting that Louis’ voice did to him what Harry’s did to Louis. Louis, playfully, asked Harry to elaborate. So he did.

“I won’t try to be poetic, I hold no candle to Shakespeare,” Harry thoughtfully said as he turned to rest on his elbow, head in his hand. His hair fell to the pillows and Louis did not stop himself from playing with the ends. “But your voice is so lovely, Louis. Both soft and coarse, somehow I get the impression that that’s simply what you are.”

“Soft and coarse?” Louis murmured.

“A bit of a walking contradiction, I suppose, but yes. Your face is both sharp and soft, your body strong but curvaceous. And you, you are thoughtful and far more merciful to me than I deserve, and yet I know you’re cunning. You look at me and wonder what game I’m playing with you, how many steps ahead I’ve thought.”

“And how many is that?” Louis asked.

“I’ve told you once already, Louis. I don’t fare well at chess—”

“You only think in the moment, I know,” Louis chuckled. “I don’t understand how it is that you do so well as a pirate then.”

“I didn’t know all good pirates played chess together,” Harry smirked. “Most of them can’t even read.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, how is it that you became a captain without swindling it from your crewmates?”

Harry mulled over this for a minute before he finally said, quite decidedly, “Tell me how you obtained your crew first. How you have your scar and your reputation, and still men clammer for your ship. You would not tell me that when we first met.” 

Louis smiled inwardly. He had forgotten he had been asked that, and that he had refused to answer. He did not even now know why he kept it from Harry, the story was so simple. “I worked my way up the ranks from rigger to barrelman on nothing but hard work and making good with my crewmates. It was then though, that I worked out that I would fare no higher rank without playing dirty.”

“And why did you want a higher rank?”

“So that no one would have power over me. So that I could govern my own future, my own wealth. And because I knew that things could be better for my crewmates. I started to notice some things were amiss with my captain at the time. He and our quartermaster were leading us into dangerous battles, battles that we should have lost — against the British and the Portuguese ships. I couldn’t work out how we kept coming out of battle so often, until I worked out that he’d cut deals with officers in the king’s fleet. It was all a set up to secure a safe prize for our captain and those he had on the inside.”

“And there’s only one thing worse than a dishonest deal amongst pirates.”

“A deal cut with the same men who force us to sea and then hunt us down when we’re there, exactly,” Louis ruminated. “So I made a plot against their scheme and called mutiny. And by sheer luck, the crew voted for my captaincy. As far as keeping a crew and pulling on new men despite my scar, well, I suppose enough men that are inclined for piracy understand why it is we end up here. One dead man ought not to judge another, especially not when they can make a fortune.”

“And you have amassed a fortune for them, assuming the stories are true.”

Louis grinned and then winked, “There is a reason that the men who join my crew don’t tend to jump ship.”

“Why do you stay, then?” Harry asked. His voice was light, thoughtful, as though piracy was simply something one could drop like a silver coin. “Why stay if you have enough to live on?”

“And do what?” Louis countered. “Where can I go on land?”

“Louis Tomlinson, captain of the Black Dagger himself, how is it you can go ten years without my having seen you and yet you’re scared you’ll be seen on land.”

Louis cast his eyes downwards. “It’s not that I’m scared—”

“Then what is it, if not fear?”

“It’s—” Louis wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was fear, and he had been too scared to say it, for he had never stopped to think about the idea of leaving piracy for too long, not until Harry had weaseled his way into his life. “It’s less a fear of being seen, and more a fear of the unknown.”

“Every day is unknown, Lou.”

Louis glanced up at the nickname. He hadn’t allowed anyone to call him that since he last saw his mother. “I could die any day, but at least here it will be a comfortable death.”

“Is that good enough? To die comfortably?”

“As opposed to?”

“On an adventure?”

Louis smirked at Harry, it was such a  _ Harry _ thing to say. “You’re so reckless, darling.”

“And you are too calculated, sweetheart,” Harry grinned back. “Perhaps you might learn to live and not simply survive.”

“Perhaps I will consider that once I’m afforded the luxury.”

Harry moved a hand to thumb at the edge of Louis’ jaw, “You can afford any luxury you steal.”

Louis rolled his eyes. Harry was right, and taking luxuries for themselves was how all pirates survived, but it still sent a pang through Louis. His life onboard the Black Dagger was dangerous, every day brought something new, but Louis had grown accustomed to it. It had come to feel safe. He had been free in every way except to leave. And so, rolling his eyes was the only way Louis could mask his discomfort of realising that.

“Tell me how you pirate so well then, Harry,” Louis said, veering the conversation back to something he was more interested in picking apart.

“Well,” Harry started, smirking as he moved his thumb from Louis’ chin to his hip, pulling their waists together. “I see what I want, and I get it.”

Louis gave him a disapproving smirk, “And it might have worked  _ once _ , but not every time. Surely.”

“Maybe it has,” Harry grinned innocently. “How are you to know the power of my wanting.”

“I have seen plenty enough of your wanting,” Louis chuckled, completely missing the fact that Harry had not truly answered his question. Just that morning, while the sun was still on the other side of the horizon, Louis had woken to his arms being pulled around Harry’s waist. And Harry, in his sleep-riddled appetite, was pressing his arse back into Louis’ crotch. And so their waking moments were spent in a swath of heavy-lidded kisses and aching, hushed moans.

“And so you know it works!” Harry laughed. “If I’m to be serious though, I might not have grand, complex schemes that I pull off entirely, but I do lay a plan and I simply adapt in the moment. As you have seen.”

“So what happens in your plan now?” Louis was cautious of bringing up the future, but the words had been a throbbing pain in the back of his head for days. They came out unconsciously, and so before he knew it, Louis was adding, “How do either of us survive this affair without losing our lives or each other? What happens to your own ship, your own crew?”

Harry’s face dropped at the mention of their plans ahead, of his own ship. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t seemed to consider it. He was clearly too caught up in their secret world. Harry didn’t have swarming, unhappy thoughts always waiting at the edge of his mind like Louis did. But his face did go dark, brooding. There  _ was _ something that Harry was thinking over. 

He didn’t let it on though. Instead, he pulled Louis into his side and hugged him. Quietly, he whispered, “We’ll think of something.”

Louis didn’t want to think of it at all. Time suddenly felt like a rope he was pulling out of water, seemingly endless until it would be too late, and an anchor would be hanging limply in his hands.

The weight of time and the complete lack of it only grew as the days wore on. But so did Louis’ fondness of Harry. And so he could only feel completely mixed up, too taken by the sight and taste of Harry, but constantly pulled by the wash of sickness he felt every time he thought of merely opening his room door. As a consequence, Louis felt himself avoiding going outside altogether. He preferred his room and his secret paradise to anything his crew could offer. It was easier to pretend this was how his life always was. Their  _ after  _ became a topic that Louis did not touch on again, and Harry seemed just as content not to talk about it either. Because talking about that topic in particular was hard and uncomfortable and Louis had just found the first proper comfort in his life — he didn’t want to tarnish it.

Inevitably, it would not be long until it was too late. It would not be long until Louis had wished they’d simply talked about it. So much in their near future would have been avoided. But they did not, and so, as the bricks slid into place and the following series of events all lined up, Louis had no part in how time came to be. And how it would be that he would have blood soaked hands.


	5. SODALITE

**PART II.**

_ To the witches I have known and the covens they have taught me, _

_ Here is to the love you said I may have. _

_ To the poets I have stolen for and the fair names they have given me, _

_ Here is to the story I write my own ending to. _

_ To the oceans I have sailed and the worlds I have not seen, _

_ Here is to the unknown. _

_ To my lover, my cutter, my mercy, my darling, _

_ Take this pyrite love and turn it into bars of gold. _

_ I beg you to pave my road to exile with them. _

* * *

**SODALITE**

Days had passed and Louis was sitting at his desk, feet hooked together atop it so he could lean back into his chair and ogle the way Harry was sitting in the window. He’d been reading but his book quickly fell to his lap because Harry cleared his throat and it pulled Louis’ eyes up to him. And then Louis’ eyes stayed because he realised he’d never taken the opportunity to watch Harry and how he held himself without his hands bound. Harry was tucked up in the corner of the window, knees in front of him. He was completely oblivious to Louis’ eyes as he rested his own book on his knee, fingers occasionally flipping pages as he read on and on and on. 

When Harry wasn’t aware he was being watched, he had a manner of tersing his brows and pressing his lips together. He looked entirely focused, thumb spinning the ring he had around his index finger. Louis watched him intently as he spun his ring around and around, every so often bringing it to his lip to bite on. Sometimes he’d do it too with one of his necklaces, hooking his finger around the chain and unconsciously bringing it to his lips.

Harry flicked to the next page of his book, necklace still indenting his cheeks as he chewed at the chain, and momentarily let his eyes glance up to Louis.

He smiled as he realised Louis was looking at him and then went right back to his reading. 

Louis blew out a small chuckle at him because Harry was so Harry, and that simply made Harry look back up at him.

“What?” Harry asked innocently around the chain between his teeth.

“You’re so delightful.”

Harry finally took the necklace from his mouth. “Why?”

Louis shook his head through his smile. “You simply are.”

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously and lowered his book. “You are.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. He was not to be outdone with compliments, and merely an echo of one at that. “Have you heard of sodalite?”

Harry said nothing and looked on expectantly.

“It’s a gemstone,” began Louis as he shifted to open one of his desk drawers. From his bottom one, next to the onyx box with Swan’s maps, he produced a small blue skull. It had cracks of white and black throughout it and to Louis’ eye, it looked like a stormy sea at night, the moon reflecting on seafoam and the blackened depths looming just below the surface. He tossed it to Harry for him to inspect. 

“What do you think of it?” Louis asked as Harry turned it in his fingers.

“It reminds me of you.”

“I—” Louis paused midway to his next sentence. That wasn’t what he was expecting. He thought Harry was going to wax poetic about the colours in it, or the chip along the jawline. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s a skull and it’s the same colour as your eyes at night, and you are afterall known for your night raids. ‘Death at night’, seems befitting of one Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis mulled over what Harry had just said, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“What is it?” Harry asked, concern maring his brow. 

“Well I was going to say something romantic and humorous about you being so delightful, and that rock being called sodalite—”

“ _ So-delight _ ,” Harry caught on quickly with a smile. “Well then my point still stands, for you are so delightful Louis. So you can stay being the world’s sodomite captain, but be my  _ so-delight _ captain.”

That left Louis like a gaping fish, the words taken completely from his mouth. Now he’d been one-upped absolutely entirely. Which made Harry all the more delighted, tittering at him from his ledge. “I refuse to take your comparison to something so suited for only you. It just won’t do,  _ Captain Sodalite _ . You’ll simply have to find me something else.”

Louis went on to shake his head, admitting defeat, but then a knock came. A musical rapping. It had to be Niall.

Harry’s eyes went wide and so did Louis’ and at first neither of them had known what to do. Fear of being caught had left their minds days ago. With Louis’ excuses of being nose deep in books and his occasional appearance on deck, no one had come to his door and so Louis had let down his guard.

Louis swore under his breath, mind swirling tumultuously as he quickly jumped from his seat. As quietly as he could, he motioned for Harry to hide and then, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, yelled that he was coming to the door.

Louis yanked on his belt of knives and guns and made haste for the door. His fingers fumbled as he turned the key on his side of it. He was shaky, unable to collect himself like he could if this were someone else’s ship and he were an unwelcome guest with a blade. He took a deep breath and, forgetting to turn and check that Harry had managed to hide, opened the door.

Niall was gleaming at him, leaning against the wall of the hallway. He’d never admit that it was to take the weight off his bad leg, but even in his flustered state Louis knew better. Behind him was Tavis.

“Uh, Niall. Tavis. Nice to see you,” Louis blurted, brushing his fringe from his brow and hoping it would distract from the red in his cheeks. “What can I do for you men?”

Niall gave him an unbothered smile, and motioned towards Louis’ quarters. It seemed whatever he wanted to talk about would be a private affair. 

Louis tried his best to keep a straight face as he let them in, holding the edge of the door too tightly as he clung to it while they walked past, and then closing it a little too harshly once they were inside. As Niall took refuge in the window that Harry had been sitting under, Louis took a moment to glance around the room, at the unkempt bed and the haphazard mess of books on the bedside tables. Louis hoped that they would not notice the fingerprints he had left across the desk, black marks from when Harry had him bent over it and Louis had knocked over an inkwell. He hoped even more that the smell of sex had been washed away enough by the spray outside. As Louis looked around he was at least able to be sure that at least Harry was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. The toilet door was closed so Louis suspected him in there.

So Louis took a hidden breath and walked carefully, too steadily, to his desk. His cutlass clacked against the edge of his seat as he sat down in it and Louis told himself not to jump. This felt like the first time he’d ever pulled a trick on someone, back when his heart still beat so loudly it could be heard.

Tavis didn’t join them in sitting. Instead, he hovered next to Niall. Louis thought him maybe too scared to sit down, this would be his first private tête-à-tête afterall. He was probably feeling out of his depth. 

Seeing the kid so unusually antsy made Louis feel a little better, though. He’d likely be too concerned with keeping the right footing than snooping around Louis’ room.

“So,” Niall started, shifting himself amongst the pillows to get suitably comfortable, “I bring an update for our arrival to Senegal.”

“We are behind?” Louis assumed, because there wouldn’t be reason for Niall to come to his quarters for anything less than bad news.

“Aye,” Niall said, “and there are complications.”

“What are they? And of what concern is it to this one?” Louis asked calmly as he glanced to Tavis. He wondered why he should be here and not Liam. Liam’s absence was peculiar in its own right, but young Tavis being here was even more strange. Especially when it came to discussions with Niall, who spoke only of serious matters in hushed tones and closed off rooms.

“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Niall answered, keeping his tone light and inline with the small smile on his face. Then he looked up at Tavis and patted the seat next to him. “Sit boy. If you’re to be in here, you’ll have some manners.”

“Aye,” Tavis replied quietly. He seemed nervous, eyes flitting around the room and catching on Louis’ bed, and so Louis made no effort to hide his gaze. He would not allow the kid to see anything amiss without Louis’ sharp eyes telling him he shouldn’t be looking in the first place.

Tavis finally did as he was told, casting his eyes to the ground and thumbing the hem of his shirt as he sat down and Louis could only smirk. He wondered if, in his own youth, he’d come across so anxious in the face of captaincy; though if he had, surely he would not have been made captain in the first place. However, just as his trousers touched the wood of the seat below the window, Tavis’ eyes caught something at his feet.

And unfortunately, it was not merely his shoe.

Both Louis and Niall watched on as Tavis bent to the floor and then reappeared with a book in his hands. It had been the one Harry was reading, clearly tossed to the floor in his race to hide.

Tavis looked at it curiously, but said nothing as he placed it on the edge of Louis’ desk.

“Right,” Louis started, moving right along. “Tell me what’s gone on.”

“The trade winds are calmer than usual, simply put, so we’re tracking about three days behind schedule,” Niall said, voice steady and sure. Louis wanted to smile at the statement, three days behind was easily manageable and would give him more time with Harry, but he did not allow himself to. It would come across as him not being eager for their destination, for Swan’s treasure. “This wouldn’t usually be a problem, we have enough supplies onboard for another fortnight,” Niall added.

“However…” Louis breathed, leaning back into his seat as he waited for Niall to continue.

“However,” Niall echoed with a tired smile, “It would seem that half of our food has prematurely spoiled.”

“How?” Louis knotted his eyebrows together. This was simply not something that happened on the Black Dagger.

“Edmund found unsalted meat amongst the vegetables this morning.”

“Who would do that? Surely not Edmund, he’s not dim and he’s too good a fellow to do it on purpose.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Niall agreed. “I suspect someone’s been put to a dare or felt slighted by ‘im and not thought through the consequences.”

“Punishment will be in order, then. We can discuss that later though,” Louis said as he absentmindedly plucked a quill from his desk to roll between his fingers. “Tell me what you think we’re to do, and why Tavis is here and not Liam.”

Niall nodded. “Right, well I’d been discussing what direction to take with Liam up at the helm. Whether we set a new course and hope for better wind or a ship to take. Tavis, here, came in with a remark that reminded me so much of you. Made me laugh if I’m to be honest, we might have a new quartermaster up our sleeves once Liam finds his man again.”

“We’ll see,” Louis smirked. It was difficult to ignore the bitten smile on Tavis’ lips at the mention. “What did you say, wain?”

Innocently, Tavis said, “Well I asked why we shouldn’t head south for Pernambuco, Cap. We could be there within the week, we’d have days to spare even on the food we have left.”

“Brazil, hm? Bold,” Louis considered, bringing a thumb to his chin hairs as he thoughtfully continued. “Very bold. I suppose you know how things are run down there, that’s a very difficult port for pirates to make. We’d be sailing right into the trading companies. Have you considered this, Tavis? These are the things one must think about when they have their aims on quartermaster. How do you put forward we make it to port without being slaughtered?”

“Well,” Tavis started, eyes shifting like he was trying to find the words. When he caught them, a smile grew on his face and the brash, testing Tavis that Louis knew out on the decks slowly came back. “It’d be simple, Cap. They don’t need to know we’re pirates. Could we not dock further up the coast, and send off a few jolly-boats? They wouldn’t know who we are. I could dress up as a local and buy the goods we need and—”

“ _ You  _ could? Are you offering to venture onland for the lot of us?”

“Uh, yes. I am. Anything for the ship, Cap.  _ Anything. _ ” Tavis smiled at Louis. His eyes were sure. 

Louis narrowed his eyes at the kid and mulled over what he’d just said. They could not pull this off if they went right to Recife, the capital. However, if they did attempt to lay anchor in range of one of the smaller settlements in Pernambuco they might be able to score enough supplies to make it to Senegal. It was a gamble though, with worse odds of capture than if they were to take another ship on their way straight to Senegal. There was, however, no promise that another ship would cross their path and they very well may starve and have to eat each other. Louis found himself coming to the easy conclusion that Tavis was on to something promising, because Brazil would not move. And it would be sure that they could at least get to a shore alive this way.

Louis breathed out a small laugh to himself because that was exactly why Niall had brought Tavis there — to get him in Louis’ good graces. So that Louis would know that is was Tavis’ idea and that sometime in the future, when Liam left his ship, he might consider the boy with the black mop of hair be his next apprentice. Louis tapped the end of the quill lying on the desk to punctuate that he’d made up his mind. 

Smiling approvingly, Louis announced, “We’ll go with Tavis’ plan. Niall, set course for Brazil, and when we get there, Tavis will personally collect a few good men and come with me to land.” He turned his attention to Tavis and added, “We’ll see how you fare in the danger of a covert ruse. If we succeed, I’ll teach you what goes into leading well.”

“You do lead well, Cap,” Tavis grinned. It was toothy, almost goofy. In a different light, he might look suspicious, but Louis knew the excitement running through his veins. He was simply giddy. “I’ll talk to a few of the others tonight.”

“Ah,” Louis raised his index finger. “You will not. We will not be saying anything of the plan until we’ve weeded out who spoiled the food in the first place.”

“Why not?” Tavis asked, face souring. “Surely you wouldn’t hide anything from your crew.”

“It’s not that, Tavis. It’s merely the fact that I will not have gossip running rife. If we tell the crew that, we might starve without our culprit found. The men will turn on each other. We need to be strong if we are to sail to Brazil, and we are only as strong as our alliance.”

Tavis pressed his mouth into a thoughtful line, but nodded nonetheless.

Louis gave him a soft smile, a reminder that it was not his fault that he did not know better. “Until then, Niall will change course and you can keep an ear out for anyone who might have ruined our food.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Good lad,” Louis smiled. “You’ll be coming for my job in no time.”

“Hopefully,” Tavis admitted with a smile and it made Louis laugh. “I do have one question, if it’s okay?”

“Mm?” Louis hummed.

“What’s behind that door?” Tavis nodded towards the toilet.

Louis felt all the colour run from his face.

He tried his best to not let his smile falter. “Oh, that’s simply a toilet—”

“I didn’t know we had one onboard,” Tavis said with wide eyes.

“A luxury afforded only to captains, I’m afraid. Not having to shit off the side of a ship is good enough reason to want to lead you lot,” Louis grinned. His teeth were gritted.

Niall laughed at that, helping to cool Louis’ cheeks. It did not help though when Niall went on to say to Tavis, “If you ask him nicely, I’m sure he’ll let you see the porcelain.”

That made Louis want to shoot the man right there, no matter how many years they’d spent as accomplices. It made a scowl pull at the very edge of his smile too, but Louis forced it down his throat as he swallowed and said, “Oh, it’s not much to look at. Surely you’ve seen a toilet before, Tavis.”

“Not on a ship!” Tavis gushed, and Louis had to blink four times to stop his eyeballs from rolling right out of his skull.

In a split second, Louis weighed up his options. He could let the boy see, and have him discover Harry and then Louis’ knife. Though perhaps Harry would not be there, and in that very unlikely circumstance no one would be none the wiser — he wouldn’t even have to pause and consider killing Niall too. Or, Louis could say that he’d left an awful mess in there and they’d better evacuate than subject themselves to that kind of torture.

Louis did not know which option would be less excruciating.

Louis could at least wash the blood out of the timber, less so the gossip Tavis would leave with about the stench of his arse.

So he closed his eyes and, unbearably, he nodded.

Tavis stood immediately and almost skipped towards the door. Louis wanted to bolt for him, yank him back before he got an eyeful of Harry’s glossy mop and Louis’ dagger, but that would be suspicious. He didn’t want to arouse anything untoward in Niall, he was one of his best men. The most trustworthy, and they were hard to come by. Even with Niall’s bad leg, Louis could only take him swiftly if he wasn’t on guard.

So Louis stood slowly and carefully and stalked Tavis with a finger hovering over his hilt. His heart thudded at whatever it was that would come next. He could already picture the look of uncomprehending horror in Tavis’ eyes as he felt a knife in his back, how his mouth would hang open and fall slack before he even knew he was dead.

Louis counted the steps between Tavis and Niall. There were eight. That would be eight steps for Louis to pull his knife from Tavis’ body and turn to either convince Niall to not attack or kill him when he did.

Tavis raised his hand to the doorknob and Louis’ finger twitched, hit the metal at the base of his cutlass. If he used that instead of a dagger, he could reach further, he could take one step less. That would be one less step between him and Niall, and it would be easier to kill him too before he even stood.

Tavis hooked an innocent hand around the handle and turned and Louis found the exact spot he would stab. An inch below the lowest rib. It would be easiest to pull out there.

Tavis pulled the door open and Louis snatched the handle of his blade and— 

And.

The toilet was empty. 

Louis almost toppled over as he stopped the reaction of his hand, it was already starting to unsheath his cutlass. Tavis didn’t seem to notice. His back remained facing Louis as he stared into the bathroom, hand tight on the handle. When he eventually turned, he actually looked disappointed. 

“What is it?” Louis breathed, moving his hands to his hips. Trying to feign an ease.

“Well,” Tavis started, collecting his thoughts. “I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s a toilet.”

“It is,” Louis smirked. “Are you satisfied?”

Tavis shrugged, “I suppose.”

“Well good, you can go back out there and spread the news of your discovery. You’ll be a regular Christopher Columbus.”

That earned a snort from Niall. And a quiet, breathy laugh from Tavis.

Louis wasted no time in getting the two of them out of his quarters after that. It almost felt like his farewells were literally shoving them out the door. However, just as Tavis wandered further up ahead, almost to the end of the passageway to outside, Niall stopped and turned. He looked at Louis quite seriously and quietly asked, “What was that about?”

“Hm?” Louis shortly hummed, raising his eyebrows as though he merely did not hear him.

“Don’t play dim with me, Tomlinson. I know you, you looked as though you were about to hunt the poor kid.”

“Oh, did I?”

Niall gave him a short look. “You followed him to the toilet with a hand on your blade.”

Louis sucked the inside of his lip, there was no fooling a man like Niall. So he conceded. “I merely do not trust strangers in my quarters.”

“Tavis is no stranger.”

“You know what I mean, I do not know him like I do you or Liam. You know there are few people I truly trust being in my quarters.”

“I suppose,” Niall sighed, scratching his eyebrow in the way he always did when he was not quite sure he believed something. “But the boy only wanted to see a toilet, as strange as that may be to you, it isn’t to him. He had not seen something so modern before. It wasn’t as though he were rifling through your drawers or reading your diaries.”

“I keep no diaries,” Louis offered with a smile. An attempt to lighten Niall’s tone.

“Perhaps you should,” Niall stated, but his mouth soon enough fell into a sly grin. “For then you might read them back and realise how absurd you sound sometimes.”

And then finally,  _ finally,  _ he left.

Louis pressed the door shut and locked it. And then he rested his forehead against it, closed his eyes, and let out a very long breath.

“You can come out now, Harry,” Louis said, not moving his head. 

Silence met him.

Louis flickered open his eyes and waited for a reply. When none came, he carefully said again, “Harry?”

And then he turned.

The tip of a cutlass was at his throat and at the other end of it was Harry, amused smile glinting.

“ _ Christ _ , fuck, Harry,” Louis squeaked as he ducked his head back. He tried to press a finger to the edge of the blade to push it away, but Harry did not let it sway. “Where did you get that?”

“It was attached to the underside of your bed,” Harry explained, smile still self-satisfied. “I grabbed it just in case I needed it. Luckily, I wasn’t in the bathroom or you would have led them right to me.”

“I—” Louis started, quickly finding himself on his way to explaining why he’d done what he’d done, but the excuse of not wanting to talk about destroying the toilet with his own arse suddenly seemed utterly stupid. And entirely mortifying. So instead, Louis sharpened his gaze and pulled out his own cutlass. Because that was what Harry seemed to like, and Louis liked it just as much, to play. If Harry was going to play with knives, Louis was going to as well.

Without hesitation, Louis drew his cutlass upwards. It chinked against the blade of Harry’s cutlass and pushed it out of Louis’ face. Harry took a step back, out of reach, and his smile widened like he was getting exactly what he wanted.

“I can’t believe you would allow me to be found so easily, sweetheart,” Harry grinned. He raised his eyebrows, coaxing Louis towards him. “I thought I meant more to you.”

Louis lunged forwards so their blades scraped together, then flicked at Harry so he had to jump back. “I wouldn’t have allowed them to leave the room.”

Harry lunged forwards and feinted a swipe at Louis’ left shoulder so he could switch and nick the fabric over his right. “You would have killed? For me?”

“Perhaps I would have killed you too,” Louis smirked as he brought their cutlasses back together in a series of small, swift movements. He forced Harry back, his left leg hitting the edge of the bed. “And then I wouldn’t have to cope with the mortifying ordeal of you thinking I killed for more than my own survival.”

“So romantic,” Harry breathed, smirk hanging wide and loose. He pushed Louis’ knife back and then jumped up onto the bed. He made a show of the fact that he was en garde, raising his eyebrows and bouncing his extended blade. “What did I do to deserve a man like you, darling?”

Louis lunged for Harry’s feet, making him spring backwards. “That would require a list longer than all the paper on this ship would let me write.”

Louis jabbed at Harry again to give himself time to spin around the bedpost and make another move at his feet. As Harry parried away his blade, he laughed and said, “I would prefer love letters.” Then, as he jumped off the bed and surprised Louis at the next bedpost, blade to his chin, he added, “You’re quite good at this.”

“You sound surprised.” Louis grinned sharply, devilishly. He had a knife to his throat but that would not stop him. He took a smooth step backwards, letting Harry follow him with his blade still to his throat. 

“My mistake,” Harry grinned, walking confidently until Louis’ back was to the dresser. “It’s mere delight that the stories are true.”

Louis suddenly swiped up his blade to meet Harry’s and used the space it created to elbow the hilt out of Harry’s hand. But Harry was quick, he almost saw it coming, so he tossed up the knife and caught it with his other hand.

“Come on, darling,” Harry smirked, taking a step back so Louis missed him with another attack.

So Louis blew the fringe from his brow and swiped at Harry in a series of quick, convoluted moves. Their feet shuffled in unison as their blades chinked together and Louis found himself quite out of breath. It was in the best way possible, of course, for half of his breath was taken by Harry’s ability to spar with the wrong hand. 

“I have a question,” Harry asked before he ducked and spun, Louis’ blade going right above his head. As he turned back to Louis, face delirious in excitement, he continued, “It’s about your quartermaster.”

“What is it?” Louis asked, swiping at Harry and cutting a line through his shirt.

Harry looked down at himself, quite scandalised, and then came back at Louis with twice as much force. “One of your men mentioned he has a man and he’s searching for him.”

“That’s not a question,” Louis said, blocking Harry’s strike.

“His lover — is his name Zayn?”

Louis’ heart jumped and so did his hand. The name took him by surprise and it loosened the grip he had on his cutlass. Harry’s blade slid up his and caught the very edge of Louis’ chin. It left a tiny cut, but a cut nonetheless.

“It is then,” Harry decided, lowering his blade.

Louis wiped at his chin with the back of his arm and bounced his cutlass in his hand, readjusting, because he was not going to let a tiny cut nor the name of Liam’s missing lover take this duel from him. He tapped at Harry’s blade, urging him to lift it up for Harry had not won yet.

“It is,” Louis eventually said, swiping at Harry so harshly he had to take three steps back. “How do you know that?”

Harry stopped in his tracks and caught Louis’ blade in his crossguard close to his face. He paused, holding their blades together for a short moment. “He is my navigator.”

Then he shoved Louis back and danced their blades together, adding, “He came to my ship five years ago in search of his man. He had told me at the time that his lover, a naval officer named Liam, had gone missing in Tenerife. He said he was taken by pirates, stolen as ransom. And here he is, on your ship. How did that happen?”

Louis knew the very story, only he’d come into it a mere three years ago. He’d met Liam, skin and bones, on a beach in Nassau. The ransom money never came, for the armies did not truly care for their men — not even the high ranking ones such as Liam. So the pirates that took him worked him to the bone and then, as they were docked in Nassau, Liam escaped. He’d run, shoeless and blistering, along the beach until he found solace in Louis’ bemused face. Liam was a single, half naked, dot in the far distance of the beach when Louis first saw him from his jolly-boat. He’d watched him curiously, eyes slits in the bright sun, as Liam ran until he stumbled, then fell into the sand. 

At first he thought Liam a mere drunk.

It was not until he pulled out his spyglass and caught sight of the shackles around his wrists that Louis realised who Liam was. By the wide bar between his cuffs that linked to a collar around his neck, Louis knew him to be a captive of Stephen McMolly.

And so, because Captain McMolly was an ardent enemy of Louis’, he helped the bugger out.

Liam did not talk to anyone on board Louis’ ship for three weeks, fearing himself caught yet again by different pirates who would treat him the same. It was not until he finally saw Louis’ scar that he realised where he was, and that he was under the wing of a captain not so unlike himself. It was then that their friendship had formed, and Liam had told him of the man he was stolen from. The man he would return to.

He was a painter named Zayn, though Liam referred to him dotingly as Ziggy. The name did not carry a gender, so Liam could freely talk about him without consequence — not that there were any on Louis’ ship. Louis had offered to get him back to Tenerife in exchange for his help on deck until they got there.

Five months later, when the Black Dagger finally breached the Canary Islands, Zayn was nowhere to be found. Liam only found a carving in the door of their old home, a note that said Zayn had gone to find him.

Liam had been searching for him ever since.

Louis explained Liam’s story as he sparred against Harry, the two of them dancing around in circles. He found himself slowing his cutlass as he spoke, lowering it a count. As he finished, Harry’s face had softened quite a bit. Louis almost assumed the duel to be over, completely forgotten in the shadow of his tale.

Though he was wrong.

Harry’s face suddenly lit up and he pounced forwards, too quickly for Louis to catch on. He whacked Louis’ cutlass from his hands altogether and then, as Louis spun with the weight of his flying blade, Harry came up behind him. He caught his arm around Louis’ shoulders and then held his cutlass to his neck.

Louis breathed out a small laugh, for Harry had played a smart game there — to use Louis’ memories to disarm him. He was not mad about it, instead taking fancy in the thud of Harry’s heart against his shoulder blades.

“You got me,” Louis lied. He still had his daggers, the ones strapped to his belt.

“You aren’t the only thing I’ve got,” Harry whispered. He was so close that his lips tickled Louis’ ear.

Louis plucked his ruby-studded dagger from his belt. “What else do you have, darling?” 

Harry suddenly grabbed Louis’ wrist and yanked him around so they were facing each other. Louis’ hand and his dagger were caught, held starkly between the two of them. Harry glanced down at it with a knowing smirk, as though he had known Louis was about to make an attempt with it.

Louis merely smiled up at him innocently.

Finally, as Harry forced Louis to drop the dagger with a swift shake of his hand, he uttered, “I have an idea.”

“What is it, my love?” Louis breathed.

“A way for us to both live.”

* * *

Harry’s idea was a trade off, his life for Zayn’s.

He told of how they could convince Liam and Niall and the rest of Louis’ crew to let Harry live, in exchange for Liam to be reunited with his lover. Whether Louis had to leave his ship behind to go off with Harry, or if they would allow him to still captain, would be something that they couldn’t plan for.

Louis didn’t find himself particularly wanting to plan for it either.

It was a strange feeling for him, to have a plan and not want to think through the details. Louis usually thought through everything, though he could not ignore the knots that pulled tight in his stomach every time he had to think about the decision of choosing his ship or Harry. He had known the man for less than a fortnight, and yes, he’d found himself quite enamoured with him, Harry gave him a comfort and a headiness he’d never encountered before, but he truly did not know the man. He did not know him like he did Liam or Niall. 

Though, Louis thought, if Liam were to find Zayn he would lose him anyway. Something bittersweet tasted on Louis’ tongue as he thought of Liam and his love. He’d fought tooth and nail to live through those first two years upon McMolly’s ship to stay alive simply to find his lover, and in the years since he’d become a good pirate, he fared well on the sea. Louis did not think of his crew as a family, but Liam came close. He was Louis’ confidante, he made the grooves in the wood of the ship feel like a place Louis could hole up in and call home. Liam was the sort of person to spend too much time with the powder monkeys and shed a tear when a man of their crew was killed. He was fierce in battle, strong and unyielding. Liam had found a home in the ship just as much as Louis had, and yet Louis knew that if Liam found Zayn, he would drop it all. For the love of a ship would never compare to that of a man.

Louis was not sure he could say the same of Harry. He was not sure he trusted the man outside of their four walls.

Which was a shame, because Harry had another idea up his sleeve. They’d been sitting in the warmth of the sun in the window, Harry’s head in Louis’ lap and Louis plaiting Harry’s hair, after Louis had said he’d consider the idea but he would not jump to any quick decision. It gave him the time to hold the idea of Harry and Zayn’s exchange in his pocket without having to think of the details. Without having to decide yet his fate. And, because it gave him longer to learn Harry. As they sat there, avoiding the inevitable, Harry gently lifted and rested his palm up against the glass of the window. He stared at it for a long, contemplative moment.

Eventually, Harry pulled away his hand. It left a foggy imprint and they both sat in silence as they watched it slowly disappear. It was when the last of Harry’s fingerprints disappeared that Harry wistfully said Louis’ name.

“Mm?” Louis hummed, hands mindlessly stroking out the plait he’d just finished.

“I want to go outside.”

Louis scoffed. Harry had such a lovely, ridiculous recklessness to him. 

“How do you propose you do that?” he asked.

Harry tipped his head back so he could look up Louis. Even when he was upside down, Harry was pretty. “By walking.”

“Walking?” Louis grinned, pressing his hands to either side of Harry’s head as though he were inspecting him. “Did we not just have to hide you from my men an hour ago?”

Harry looked up at him with a new directness. “I miss the wind on my skin, and the ocean spray. I want to have nothing between me and the sun, and now I know that if we get caught we have Zayn as immunity.”

It should have made Louis feel more secure to know that fact, but it only made his heart fall an inch. He didn’t want to think about it. Louis replied quietly, “Nothing is to stop you from being killed before you can tell them.”

“Are you telling me no?”

“I’m not sure,” Louis admitted without much conviction. He was too easily swayed by Harry. “I don’t want to trap you, but I don’t want you dead. Perhaps we could go at night, when no one is about.”

Harry placed his right hand atop Louis’ giving it a gentle squeeze. “You are too kind to me, sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” Louis winked.

He leant down and kissed Harry. An attempt to forget his unease.

* * *

They left in the early hours of the next morning, when the moon was at its highest, bright and full, and it was not until Louis was closing his room door behind him that he realised how utterly foolish they were being. To go outside was mindless, no matter how few people there would be about, there was always a chance to be caught. Not everyone slept easy on ships, and there would be no locked door to keep them out of mind.

However, it was so incredibly easy to not think of that all with Harry around. He made it feel like they could do anything,  _ escape _ anything. As Harry stood at the end of the open passageway, full moon glinting in his eyes and in his sharp smile, breeze in his hair, he seemed untouchable. Like this were a dream, and their actions did not have consequences. There was a dangerous excitement swirling within Louis, as though he were a boy again, sneaking out to explore the woods. Where there had once been animals to hide from, now there were men, but in Louis’ life they were much the same. 

So he left his door unlocked in case they needed a hasty escape, and he slipped away to Harry and the open night.

  
  


There was only one person outside, the ship’s night guard. Just like last time, though, he’d fallen asleep against the bannister of the ship. He was slumped over on a wooden box he’d pulled over, with his feet propped up on a pile of barrels next to him.

If there was one thing Louis was learning about his crew, it was that they were not as onto it as he had always thought. Which made it a wonder they were so formidable. He supposed, thankfully, they were much too focused on enemy ships and navys to look for the betrayals of their captain. They trusted him too much.

Harry giggled when he saw the sleeping figure up near the head of the ship, a slump of clothes on top of a collection of boxes, their head tipped right back so their mouth hung wide open.

“You ought to get your crew back into tip top shape,” Harry whispered as they watched the man half-wake himself with a jolting snore. 

As Louis’ crewmate lazily smacked his lips together and let his head fall to the side, he whispered back to Harry, “That’s the last thing either of us wants, you menace.”

“A menace? You haven’t seen anything,” Harry replied. His eyes narrowed and his mouth quirked. He was clearly up to something, mind ticking away. He was most  _ definitely _ about to be an actual menace. Louis didn’t even bother to ask, no doubt Harry was about to divulge whatever reckless nonsense he was up to now.

All Louis had to do was shoot him a knowing, expectant look for Harry’s mouth to slide into a wide grin. That was all it took, and then suddenly, like a sea serpent or a  _ fox _ , Harry was off running.

Louis’ stomach jumped into his throat as the sparking, thundering, wave of adrenaline ran down his skin. Neither of them had boots on in an effort to remain as silent as possible, and Harry was still not exactly making much noise, but Louis felt fear and alarm strike right through him. He did not want Harry to run into something, or someone, unintentionally. He did not want him to turn a corner around one of the masts or crates and find himself face to face with someone’s cutlass. Especially when both Harry and Louis had forgone their own — another attempt as silencing the weight of their footsteps. Though Louis did still have a small dagger tucked into his belt. Harry would call him paranoid. Louis would say it was simply taking appropriate precautions.

Though it wouldn’t matter when Harry was dashing away into the night, too far for Louis to do anything with his dagger except throw it.

So Louis bolted after Harry.

He ran as silently as he could, careful not to disturb his sleeping crewmate up ahead as his bare feet padded along the ground. He was good at this, night raids were Louis’ specialty, but his heart was thudding more than it had in any battle he’d had in years. 

“Harry!” Louis cautioned sharply under his breath. “Stop that!”

Harry did not stop, but he did giggle and slow a small count. Enough for Louis to close the space between them. As soon as Louis reached out and touched a finger to the inside of his arm, Harry dodged away and another giggle left his lips. 

Louis cursed under his breath and tried to chase him again but Harry ran like he did not notice the sway of the ship, nor the whip of wind in his hair. The timber did not creak beneath him. He was smooth, sharp, had the practiced gait of a dancer. His feet made no sound and it served only to remind Louis that Harry was quite a capable man. Just as capable, as silent and as deadly, as Louis. He was someone who could absolutely be dangerous, and there was reason his recklessness hadn’t yet killed him.

But Harry was also giggling, he had a smile. He did not treat this like he was dangerously pushing boundaries. Instead of slowing again or stopping, he merely looked back at Louis with a gleeful smile and then ran off up ahead to the mast. He threw out an arm and swung around it and Louis had no choice but to follow.

“I cannot believe you,” Louis uttered as he spun past the mast too, just an arm’s length away from catching Harry.

Harry paid him no mind. He simply kept running and Louis found himself chasing the man around barrels and cannons and the centre mast. They looped around them in circles and it was not long until Louis found himself forgetting where he was. It was not long until his breaths came out in wispy laughter. It was not long until he was smiling just as Harry was.

It was easy to forget when there was no sound and no movement around them, bar the wash of the ocean cutting on either side of the ship. The sails whipped in the breeze above them, flicking in time to Louis’ bouncing heartbeat.

That was until, somehow entirely without thought, Harry veered off to the left. Directly to the sleeping night guard. 

Louis couldn’t stop himself. The words started spilling out as soon as he saw where Harry was heading. He absolutely could not believe what he was witnessing. Harry was not so stupid as to run at the sleeping man, and yet that was exactly what he was doing. Not running by him, or near him.  _ At  _ him. “Harry, I swear to God I am going to tie you back up and gut you if you so much as—”

Louis didn’t finish. As soon as the words started coming out of him, they stopped. It was the only way he could hold his breath. Louis found himself suddenly frozen to the spot, mouth hanging ajar because Harry was doing the unimaginable.

Harry ran at the man and then leapt into the air, jumping right over him. If this were one of his crewmate’s stories, they would have said they saw the wind in Harry’s tail sweep the sleeping man’s hair as he went past, but Louis saw it all happen in slow motion and Harry did not even come close to brushing the man with his speed. He was too strong, had jumped too high. He passed over the man like he was nothing more than air.

Harry landed on the ground with a perfect, quiet thud, catching himself with a press of his fingertips to the ground. He grinned back at Louis as he stood.

“Come on,” he whispered.

“I’m not going to jump over him,” Louis whispered back.

Harry’s smile widened. “Why not?” 

“Harry Styles,” Louis whispered again, his voice sharpening with urgency. “I am not going to jump over my crewmate for the sake of proving anything to you.”

“The only thing you’re proving,” Harry grinned, “is that you’re a wuss.”

“The only thing you’re proving is that you’re going to get us caught!” Louis huffed. 

“Careful love, you’ll wake him if you speak any louder,” Harry said quite petulantly, delighting in his own nuisance. “Just do it,” he added, quirking an eyebrow.

Louis sucked on his bottom lip and tried to compose himself. Harry was such a pain, and yet he was so wonderful. And they hadn’t been caught yet. Louis pressed a hand to his chest and swallowed, all he could feel was the shuddering of his heart. It felt good. It felt alive.

Louis sighed and brushed his fringe out of his hair. There really was never any arguing with Harry, his recklessness was too delicious. Louis was too taken.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Louis eventually whispered, determined to keep his face quite serious. He wasn’t sure it was convincing, Harry was smirking at him. “It’s only so I can get you!”

Louis quickly darted forward and jumped over the sleeping man, smile suddenly beaming as he forgot himself and let the adrenaline rush through his cheeks. This was dangerous, was  _ stupid,  _ but it was so incredibly fun. Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply gotten up to no good for the sake of it, everything was always so organized, so calculated. The feeling of Harry catching him felt anything but. It felt sweeping, overwhelming, utterly magical to feel Harry’s hands catch his waist and bring him gently to the ground.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Louis whispered, grinning up at Harry.

“So are you,” Harry grinned back. He quickly glanced over Louis’ shoulder at the man behind him. He must have remained asleep because Harry came back with another grin and then squeezed Louis’ hips. “We both are.”

“We’re going to get ourselves killed,” Louis breathed as he reached up and tucked Harry’s billowing hair behind his ear. His skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. His eyes were sharp, milky in the blue night. It was disarming how much Harry could pass for some otherworldly creature. If he sang, Louis would follow his voice down into the depths of the ocean. Louis would happily drown in it.

“If it’s with you, then the privilege is all mine,” Harry whispered. His voice felt softer, lighter than it had all night. 

Louis rolled his eyes, but he sucked in his cheeks as he did it. Scrunched his nose up for good measure. All the ways to hide that he wanted to smile like an idiot. Harry, the bastard, bounced a finger on the tip of Louis’ nose and then kissed his forehead. “You’re so darling when you’re trying to hide your smile.”

He didn’t give Louis a chance to reply. Instead, Harry drew his hands to Louis’ and then pulled him away from their spot. He walked the two of them towards the back of the ship, rubbing his thumb against the back of Louis’ palm as he went. Without saying a word, Harry took Louis up to the quarter deck. His whole body had seemed to change as he walked up the stairs in front of Louis. No longer was he impish and sly. Now his shoulders hung a little lower, his steps seemed slower. He seemed thoughtful.

Once they reached the top, Harry led them to the bannister that overlooked the lower deck. He perched himself half up on it and then pulled Louis in to stand between his legs.

“What is it?” Louis asked, careful to keep his voice both hushed and prodding. “You’ve changed.”

“Changed?” Harry asked, as though he didn’t know what Louis was talking about.

Louis shrugged, “Your body,  _ you _ . You seem very serious all of a sudden.”

Harry thinned his lips and then looked out towards the front of the ship. “I’m just thinking.”

Louis was shy to ask what about. Thoughts of all the things he’d been avoiding started to swirl in his mind. The Zayn plot, the future, the state of his entire life. He pushed himself to ask Harry though, it seemed like he ought to. Harry was pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He had the same terse expression as when he lost himself in a book.

“What about, love?”

Harry shook his head, not taking his eyes away from the ship sprawling out before them. “There’s too much I want to say.”

“Then say it.”

Harry turned back to him and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist. He rested his cheek against the side of Louis’ stomach. All Louis could do was place his hands around Harry’s shoulders, pet his hair as they stayed there in silence.

He wondered how often Harry was like this. Such a switch from devilish and mischievous to so thoughtful and almost morose. He’d never really considered Harry as the thinking type, but perhaps he simply covered himself well. Perhaps he hid his thoughts like he did himself. Louis had been a pirate ten years and never seen him, and Harry had seemed so content to hole up in his room for the two weeks they’d spent together.

Though, the more Louis thought about it, the more he supposed he’d caught flashes of the Harry that thought as deeply as he did wildly. He’d seen it in the poetry he loved, the words he ate up in books. He’d heard it in comfortable silence they shared. He’d felt it in the way Harry stroked Louis’ skin and stared up into the dusty air above the bed. Louis had always thought of them as quiet moments where they simply existed together, not needing to fill the space between them with prodding jokes and conversation. Perhaps Harry had been filling them with his thoughts just as much as Louis had. Perhaps he was just as worried about the future as Louis was.

At some point, Harry had stopped calling Louis his fair youth.

Louis couldn’t pinpoint when it was, but at some point betrayal had lost its sway in their conversations. It wasn’t something Louis considered anymore. A week ago, he’d call himself a lunatic. Now, he’d call himself hopeful. Completely unreasonable, but entirely hopeful. And  _ worried _ .

“Is it the future, Harry? Is that what you’re thinking of?” Louis gently asked, stroking the hair from Harry’s ears.

It took a moment, but Harry nodded. Slowly. Solemnly. Then he whispered, “There are hard truths in this life. I’ve made decisions I wish I could take back.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry half-heartedly motioned out towards the ship before them as he said, “Look at this. Look at us sneaking around. In another life, we wouldn’t need to. We could sit here in the day, under the sun, and your crewmates wouldn’t look at me like the villain I am—”

“You’re not a villain, Harry,” Louis interjected.

“I am, Louis.”

“Perhaps in the past, but haven’t we all been a villain? Aren’t we all just fighting to see another day? Everyone on this ship has made decisions that another would find barbaric.”

“Barbaric,” Harry scoffed darkly. “That’s a good way of putting it.” He pulled his head from Louis’ front and looked up at him. “Are you forgiving, Louis?”

Louis looked down at him and mulled over his lower lip. He wasn’t sure how to answer. “It depends.”

Harry nodded to himself and looked back to the lower deck. Thoughtfully, he said, “I suppose it does.”

Louis took Harry’s chin and gently made him look back up at him. His eyes were wide and round, pupils so wide that his eyes looked black. “Do you need forgiving, Harry?”

Harry said nothing.

Louis looked down at him and tried to pinpoint what exactly he was thinking about. What it was about the future that made Harry worry of the decisions he had made in the past. They had both killed men, both plundered ships, stolen from the guilty and the innocent, both exiled themselves from the concept of right and wrong. It was the life of a pirate. It was a life without forgiveness. It was a life in which Louis only pardoned the men who he respected, whose decisions made sense in the circumstances of which they were forced.

Louis leant down and placed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. Then as softly, as honestly as he could muster, he whispered against the skin of Harry’s brow, “Whatever you have done in your life, you will always know I would have done the same.”

It was a sentiment they’d shared so many times. 

As Louis pulled away, he caught a flicker of the small smile on Harry’s lips. Louis wanted to light his smile right up, to bring him back from the edge of the bannister and from this morose, self-loathing Harry that had made a sudden appearance. So he stroked the edge of Harry’s jaw and added, “You said you got your rose tattoo to remind yourself to be merciful, and you have since allowed me the mercy to get to know you before I had the chance to kill you. You are a spark, Harry. You’re wonderful and wild, and in another life, we wouldn’t have rival ships. You could have been my quartermaster—”

“Or you mine,” Harry interjected with the quietest spark of humour.

Louis gave an unsurprised smile and feigned a begrudging roll of his eyes, “Perhaps that too. But we also mightn’t have ever become pirates. Perhaps you would become a bank man or a lawmaker and I would have become a naval officer and we would have met to round up those smarmy pirates that infested our waters. Or perhaps I would have still become a pirate and you would be a man of ransom and I would never have learned to be so bloody  _ soft _ . It need not matter where we came from though, love. What matters is that we have met and we could write our own ending to this story.”

“What would you write?” Harry asked.

Louis softly smiled and thought for a moment. When he got an idea, he gently pulled Harry from his perch so he could stand with him, Louis just behind him, the two of them looking out at the ship. “In my ending, we’d sail to Brazil to get supplies and while there, I’d write a letter for Zayn. I would tell him that I had Liam on my ship and you’d sign it so he didn’t believe it a trap. He’d bring your ship to Senegal and we’d reunite Zayn and Liam, and in exchange, our crews would let us be together. They wouldn’t of course, so we’d have to butter them up with Swan’s maps. If we offered them those, there’d be no doubt they’d let us live.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry smiled. “Maybe they’ll kill us for the hell of it.”

“Or maybe,” Louis grinned back as he delicately brought his hands to Harry’s waist, “in my version at least, we’ll live. We’ll have our own ship and you can sit out here in the day, and you can run around our sleeping crewmates at night, and you can fuck me in a bed we share.”

That earned a small giggle from Harry.

“Just imagine,” Louis continued as he moved his hands to Harry’s wrists, lifting them up so the sea wind caught between Harry’s fingertips. “You could sail the seas to anywhere in the world, and I could be right here behind you.”

“Next to me,” Harry corrected, moving his fingers in the breeze as though he could catch the wind like he’d caught his feelings for Louis. “You’d have to be  _ next _ to me.”

“Next to you,” Louis agreed, smiling against Harry’s shoulder. “Next to you without fear of being caught.”

“We could go to the Americas and start a new life,” Harry added, voice picking up with excitement. “Or we could sail to an undiscovered island and make it our home. We could write our own laws and fill our days with whatever made us happy.”

“What would make you happy, darling?” Louis asked, moving his hands into Harry’s so they could both feel the wind.

“Books and music and fine food. And a lover.”

“A fair youth, perhaps?”

“No,” Harry breathed. “A lover. You.”

Louis squeezed Harry’s hands. It was so easy to forget reality with him. Harry was so lovely, so idealistic. Of course he would offer to make their own coven after such a short amount of time. Of course he would want to run away to live in a world made of roses, one without daggers, one without a past. Louis wasn’t about to tell him to stop.

“That would be lovely.” Louis swallowed the thought that came after, the  _ if it were possible. _

“Come here, love,” Harry then whispered, pulling Louis around so he was stood in front. So his knees were against the bannister and his back was against Harry’s chest. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis and rested his chin on his shoulder. 

It was silent for a long moment between them, just staring out at the dark horizon. All Louis thought about was what life would look like if he could stand here like this during the day. He imagined what the sun would feel like as it touched the hand he held with Harry and he knew it would feel different. The Earth did not care about who Louis loved, whether it was right or wrong, whether the man he was enamoured by was more worthy of a slit throat than a kissed one. 

Louis wished that the sun would rise so it could finally see Louis, could see his love for more than a scar, more than a warning. Harry held Louis gently and they swayed with the waves. It felt easy between them and Louis wished that it always would. 

Though life was temporary, nothing was ever given for a man like Louis. The sun would rise and he would have to hide like he had always done. Only the moon, only the black of the night, would see Louis for who he was. A man. That’s all he really was beneath everything, a man. One droplet in the ocean, one star in an endless sky. The hands he held in his should not matter in a world that big and yet they did, and they always would. Even if he could have Harry in the day, he could not have him anywhere because Harry was a man too. Louis’ love would always be confined to the dark, to the night. Taken beneath sea piers and behind locked doors. It did not matter where, it would always be in the dark and stolen.

Louis felt his shoulders sag. Harry seemed to sense a change in him because he held him tighter. Perhaps he had the same thoughts, the same realisation that exile was not somewhere they had been led to but somewhere they were born.

Louis held him tighter too.

“Do you suppose,” Harry said softly against Louis’ ear, “we could  _ actually _ sail together after this? In earnest, I would like to.”

Louis took a slow measured breath and tried to piece together his thoughts. He liked the feeling of having arms around his body, a hand to hold and to kiss, but he feared committing to it. He feared agreeing to live a life with Harry, no matter how long it would last, for he did not know Harry long enough, deeply enough, to fight for him. And to do so would only make it all the worse when he inevitably lost him. Louis wasn’t sure what was worse, a longer, safer life with less to lose but less to love, or a short one that would be bright and intense and cut off in heartbreak.

“I—“ Louis started.

He did not get to finish.

The hatch below deck suddenly creaked open.

Louis flew backwards and yanked Harry with him. The bannister was merely a beam with bars of wood propping it up. It would not hide them.

But the mast behind the ship’s wheel might.

Louis ran for it, keeping himself low and silent. The hand that he had in Harry’s pulled with the same deft weight as when he drew a knife. They moved together perfectly, like water down a window pane, and before they knew it, they were tucked behind the wide pole. Louis held himself as close to the mast as he could, keeping himself as small as possible. He pressed his hands to the wood, it felt soft, weather-worn. Harry hid behind him, one hand on Louis’ shoulder, the other against the wood below Louis’ hands.

Louis could feel Harry’s heart beating.

He took a small, measured breath and then peeked out to the deck.

It was Tavis.

Just as it was the other night.

He was carefully pressing down the hatch so it made no sound, and then he was glancing around the ship. Tavis had no visible reaction to seeing their night guard above deck, nor did he have one to the fact that he was asleep. He merely wiped his hands on his shirt and then walked to the opposite side of the ship that he was sleeping on. The port side.

Once there, he collected the buckets left out for scrubbing the decks. Then he grabbed a rope that was tied to the rigging off the side of the ship.

“What’s he doing?” Harry breathed as Tavis started to tie the length of rope to one of the buckets. 

It made Louis shiver. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know, but I saw him out here with some buckets a few nights ago too.”

“Think he’s up to no good?”

“Tavis?” Louis breathed thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

Tavis started lowering one of buckets off the side of the ship as Harry whispered, “He was the one that came in with your navigator, Niall, correct?”

Louis nodded. “He wants to move up the ranks. He’s a little naive if you ask me, a little too reckless, but he is keen, which is more than I could ask. He can be taught.”

Tavis pulled up the bucket, filled to the brim with water, and set it carefully down on the deck. He shot another quick glance to the sleeping night guard as he untied the rope and thread it around another bucket.

“I’ve got absolutely no idea why he needs sea water in the middle of the night though,” Louis whispered thoughtfully. The sight before them was perplexing. Surely if the kid needed a drink or something to wipe himself with, he could use the fresh water they had stored below deck. Despite the time, he didn’t seem particularly fussed if the night guard woke, and he didn’t seem to look out for anyone else roaming the decks. He hadn’t looked Louis’ way once. None of what he was doing was suspicious, but it was strange. Mind, Tavis never seemed one to be concerned with fitting in, not with the mischievous tone he often took with Louis, or his propensity for cutting into conversations. He was strange, but harmless nonetheless.

“Maybe he’s attempting his hand at fishing,” Harry whispered. There was amusement in his voice. “Why don’t you go out there and ask him?”

“I could,” Louis started. “That would bring on questions as to why I was out and about.”

“And?” Harry asked. Louis could feel his smile up against his ear. “You wouldn’t have to answer them. You are captain after all.”

“That is true,” Louis replied with a smile. “I shouldn’t even be hiding right now. T’is nothing wrong with being out at night, I have no one to answer to.” 

Louis pulled back from his view of Tavis pulling up buckets of water so he could face Harry. Harry, of course, was standing so close that Louis had to tip his head back so it hit the mast just to see him properly. He laid a hand against Harry’s chest, whose heart was still beating hard, and whispered, “I’ll go and talk to him. You must stay here.”

“I can sneak past,” Harry whispered back with a smile. “I’m good at hiding.”

“So good you were caught within hours of being on my ship,” Louis smirked. “No, stay. Please. I’ll send him below deck, it will be easier that way.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Louis grinned. “Now stay, love.”

“Aye, Cap.” Harry winked. And Louis turned on his heel.

He slipped around to the front of the mast, and to anyone that was looking it would appear that Louis had merely come from the navigation room. But no one  _ was  _ looking. Tavis was nowhere to be seen. He’d already slipped away.

The only thing that gave him away was the click of the door up at the forecastle. Right at the front of the ship was a small door that lead to the inner decks at the head of the ship.

Louis felt his chest suddenly deflate. He’d held it tight in an effort to appear authoritative, but now the boy was gone.

“He’s… gone,” Louis breathed out. “It’s safe to come out Harry.”

Harry did not reply. At first. As Louis turned back to the mast, ready to call Harry’s name, he peeked out at him. Two wide, milky green eyes staring down at him.

“Are you sure?” Harry whispered.

Louis nodded.

“That’s almost disappointing,” Harry said with a breath of a laugh.

Louis could only shrug. “Perhaps. But we at least have another night of safety.”

“True,” Harry said as he came out from the mast. 

Louis lifted a hand for him to take and as Harry took it, he plucked a single kiss from his knuckle. Then gently he pulled him towards the stairs, whispering, “Come, let’s not wait for more trouble to brew.”


	6. STONE

**STONE**

Trouble would come for them when they woke.

Because when Louis finally, properly, opened his eyes, it was to a banging. From a shuddering.

From fists against his door.

There was shouting outside, loud and panicked. And somewhere, swimming below everything else, was the jangle of keys.

Louis bolted up and shot out an arm to wake up Harry. “Harry!” he begged, shaking his arm.

Harry began to wake slowly blink apart his eyes, too sluggish from their late night. They’d fallen asleep easily, into a deep slumber. Harry’s arms had been around Louis, it had felt warm. And safe.

And now it was not.

Louis could not waste time shaking Harry awake. He needed to stop whoever was on the other side of that door. It would be Liam. He was the only other man on board with keys to Louis’ room.

“Fuck!” Louis swore, throwing himself out of bed. He landed on the floor with a thud, arms flying out to his trousers before he had time to steady himself. “Wait!” he called, yanking them on.

They did not.

The door opened and Louis only had his trousers to his knees. His ankle had caught in one of the legs, pulled inside out when he’d stripped them off the night before. It had, stupidly, forced him to take too long. And now Liam was very concernedly looking down at him.

“Just wait—” Louis started, trying to pull up his trousers.

Liam, still, did not.

And neither did Ernest. He was a shadow behind Liam. His head poked out and caught on Louis, trousers down, and Louis could have swore again. Instead, he yanked his trousers to his waist with enough force to rip them. Because Liam turned to the shape in Louis’ bed. 

To the body.

To Harry.

Liam’s face flashed from confusion to shock to recognition.

Louis spun to Harry and saw him on the floor on the far side of the bed. He’d pulled the sheets down with him, and effort to hide his nudity. They’d gotten too lenient, too comfortable to remain naked as their love making turned to sleep. “Shit,” Louis uttered as he realised why Liam had that look on his face. The look of recognition that he did not have when he’d first found Harry, a mere stowaway, a complete stranger, in the depths of the ship.

Harry, in his nudity, had his tattoos on full display.

There was no hiding who he was. There was no explaining either.

Louis bolted for his knifes. They were thrown on the floor. They were right between Louis and Liam.

Louis’ hand was mere centimetres before Liam’s hands were suddenly on him. Throwing him back. Towards the bed.

Louis’ back hit the wood of the bed’s base with a crack. Pain shot up his spine.

“Louis!” Liam cried, his voice strained with betrayal. “What have you done?”

“I—” Louis started, pushing himself up from the ground. 

“Take his knives,” Liam cut in, turning back to Ernest. “And shut the door. Now.”

Liam turned back to Louis. His brow was torn up. He took a step back, took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyebrow as his eyes fell back on Harry. Confusion and frustration marred his voice as he croaked, “Oh Louis. Oh Louis. What have you done?”

“I can explain,” Louis offered. He did not know if he could safely move, if he could get to Harry and keep the space between him and Liam, so he stayed still. It was a safer bet. Liam was a gentle beast, but he was still a beast. Louis did not want to give him any reason so unsheath his cutlass while Louis had none.

“There is no time!” Liam lamented, pulling a hand through his hair. “There is no fucking time! We are to die!”

“Die?” Louis breathed.

“Ernest has been knocking on your door since we woke and you’ve been in here doing— doing—  _ him _ !” Liam’s voice rose an octave. He sounded panicked. Caught between betrayal and anger. All of it underscored by frustration.

Harry was a silent, unmoving shape in the corner. He held the sheets to himself as though they would hide him from the conversation. Gone was any semblance of the confidence, playfulness, the audacity that he had held with him the entire time he’d been onboard.

“I can explain,  _ please _ Liam,” Louis begged. 

“There is no explaining this, Louis,” Liam snapped back at him. “You’ve ignored the needs of your ship in favour of—” he waved his hand in the air, his glasses flying about sporadically— “being fucked by Captain Harry Styles?”

“I haven’t ignored the ship! I—”

“You have!” Liam said, eyes sharpening. “You do not even know what is going on out there! You know nothing!”

“What is going on then?” Louis asked. He tried to be cautious, an attempt to keep Liam from taking his blade to him, though it came out more strained. 

“The Spanish we stole Swan—” he caught himself, glancing over to Harry who was most definitely not to know about the maps— “The Spanish ship we robbed. They are on our tails. And now we are fucked. And you have not been there to help. We are to  _ die  _ Louis.”

“We cannot take them?” Louis asked. “What is stopping us?”

“The gunpowder,” Liam breathed as he took a step back and wiped at his cheek. “The fucking gunpowder. It is completely sodden.We have no cannons. We have no guns. They will board us within the hour and we have nothing but our cutlasses. All because someone has betrayed us and wet our gunpowder and...” Liam turned back to Harry, eyes suddenly black. “I bet it was him.”

Liam started to move. Threw his glasses back on and moved his hand towards his belt.

“No!” Louis cried, jumping forwards to catch Liam’s hands before he could pull out his blade. “It wasn’t!”

“It has to be him!” Liam retorted, pushing Louis off himself. 

“It was not!” Louis latched on to Liam’s hand, tried to hold it down. Tried to keep him from drawing upwards.

“Then who was it, Louis!? If it was not him, then who?” Liam cried. He suddenly pulled his hand from the hilt of his cutlass and elbowed Louis with enough force to send him to the ground. “Was it you!? Have you betrayed us twice?”

“No!” Louis pleaded. “It was not!”

“Then fucking who?” Liam swore, leaning down to stare right into Louis’ eyes. His glasses made his eyes bigger. Wilder. Scarier.

Louis thought of everyone on board. Everyone who would have had a reason to ruin their gunpowder and put everyone on board to certain death. It was not Harry. It couldn’t have been. He’d never left the room except for the night before when they’d run around outside and they’d seen…

“Tavis,” Louis uttered. It had been him who had been collecting water. It was him who had waited for the dark depths of several nights to do it. He had done it to hide what he was doing, and this was what for.

For what reason, though, Louis could not fathom. The kid was surely not stupid enough to put everyone’s lives at risk. 

“Tavis?” Liam scoffed. “You’re mad.”

“I am no such thing!” Louis spat.

“Then you are lying,” Liam decided. “To protect him.”

Liam stood back and, swift as the glint of sun on his blade, drew it out and pulled it on Harry.

“No!” Louis wailed, jumping up to catch Liam’s arm. “I am not. It was Tavis. I saw him!”

Liam turned back to Louis. He did not believe him.

Louis looked up at him, trying to look as truthful as he was being. “I saw him last night, and last week. He was fetching water from the side of the ship in the middle of the night. You must believe me!”

“And you did not stop him? You did not question him?”

“I was— I was,” Louis stuttered, eyes moving to Harry. “I was in a compromising situation.”

“All of those nights?” Liam asked. “What were you doing?”

Louis swallowed.

The look of guilt must have been wiped right across Louis’ face. Liam did not wait for him to answer. Instead, he let out a choked laugh and shook his head. “You are utterly unbelievable, Louis Tomlinson. Completely un-fucking-believable.”

“I can explain,” Louis breathed. “I can explain.”

“I have no reason to believe anything you say, if I’m honest. Not after stumbling in on this,” Liam said sharply, pulling his cutlass on Louis. “All I know is that we have no time until the Spanish are upon us and that you are, in whatever capacity, to blame. You are either behind this and you’re lying to get out of it, or you saw Tavis and you did nothing.”

“I— I—” Louis stammered, throwing up his arms. He glanced back in Ernest’s direction to see if he could reach the boy, reach his knives, before Liam struck him through the heart. Earnest was in the furthest corner, at least six paces, and Louis’ knives were held tightly to his chest.

Harry spoke for him. Gently, quietly, he said, “Louis is telling the truth. I, uh, I was with him last night. We saw Tavis collecting buckets of water. Louis went to question him but he was gone below deck before he could.”

Liam looked over at Harry and narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “And you did not follow him?”

“I— I did not want to be caught with Harry,” Louis confessed.

This only made Liam scoff yet again.

“I’m sorry,” Louis added.

“You are a fool,” Liam retorted. “To be messing around with this— this snake. Do you not remember every cannon he has fired at us? Do you not remember Bermuda? This is the man who almost killed us all, who blew apart Niall’s leg— Christ. Wait till Niall hears about this.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeated, voice cracking a little.

“Don’t be,” Liam said darkly. “You have killed us all.”

Louis did not know what to say to that.

Heavy silence filled the room, made it suddenly too hot, too small. Louis had nowhere to go, nothing to say. All he heard was the shouting out on deck, the rush of boots on the floor above them.

Meekly, from the corner of the room, Earnest suddenly spoke.

“Liam,” he said. “What do we do now?”

Liam took a long breath and lowered his blade. Louis could tell he did not know what to do. He did not know what came next. They were a floating coffin by now. There was no way they could take the Spanish without their cannons. They could not outrun them either. There was only one thing left to do.

“We must go out like good men,” Louis said. “We surely cannot go out and simply let them take the ship. We must fight and make them work to kill us. We must—”

“Stop talking like a captain,” Liam cut in. “You can not lead us anymore. Not after this. None of the men will follow you after learning about this.”

“Then what, Liam?” Louis asked, with more audacity, more gal than he had shown all morning. “Are we to kneel with our necks bared to them? Are we to take death kindly?”

“Whatever we do, you will not be there with us.”

“Why not? I may have betrayed you with negligence, but I can still fight with you!” Louis snapped.

“I do not trust you with a weapon! Not after all you have done!”

“I will fight with my hands if I must!”

“I would sooner kill you than stand by your side!” Liam spat, raising his cutlass to Louis’ neck, stepping forward so the tip of it pressed against his jaw. “I should kill you now—”

“Wait!” Harry suddenly cried. “Wait! Please! I have an idea!”

Liam did not acknowledge his words. But he did not move to slash at Louis’ throat either. Instead, he stood steadfast, eyes boring into Louis’.

Harry took the opportunity to continue, carefully adding, “I think I know a way to get us all out of this, but you mustn’t kill Louis please.”

“Why should we listen to anything you say, Styles?” Liam asked, still unmoving.

“You shouldn’t,” Harry admitted. “But what choice do you have?”

Liam said nothing.

“If it fails, we will be dead anyway. I will be just as dead as you and I do not want that. I want to live, surely you do too.” Harry added.

Liam let out a shallow, forced breath and then asked through clenched teeth, “What is this idea, then?”

“Look out the window,” Harry simply said. Louis glanced up and saw the massive Spanish ship approaching in the distance. He had not looked before, but he could quickly tell that it would soon reach them. The red crosses on their masts and the figurehead at the front of the ship were easily visible even without a spyglass. When Liam did not move to turn around, Harry gave up and said. “I recognize that ship. She’s the Caine. I had, uh, followed her for some months. She uses a flag system.”

“We all use a flag system,” Liam said with frustration. “That’s how we know who to attack and who to avoid.”

It was something they all knew well, how the flags that they flew behind their ship were a marker for who they were. Jolly Rogers of various kinds for pirates, the crown for the British navy. Red crosses for the Spanish. Plain red for oncoming cannon fire, and white for surrender. They were a way to identify each other, to know which ships were being operated by who, but some countries had their own, smaller, systems. It meant that they could communicate with each other from great distances without interference from others.

Harry took a short breath and replied, “Yes, but when I sailed behind her I learned that they had their own flags for each other. If we put up the right flag, they may think us just as Spanish merchants who have taken Louis’ ship. I tested it on my own ship, flying their flags behind us so that we could stalk them without being detected.”

“And what is this flag?” Liam asked, the anger in his voice starting to resign.

“If I tell you and it works, will you let us live?”

Liam was silent. He was thinking. Then, with the least amount of emotion he could muster, he said, “I have not decided that.”

“Perhaps then, I can sway you.”

Liam said nothing.

“I can lead you to Zayn.”

Liam’s eyebrow twitched. He suddenly looked into Louis’ eyes as though they would give away whether Harry was lying or not.

“How do you know that name?” Liam asked Harry without turning.

“It is the name of my quartermaster.” 

Liam’s hand on his cutlass faltered. He did not lower it to the ground but Louis could see the conflict grow within him. “Tell me where your ship is now, then.”

“I will if you let us live.”

“Tell me or I’ll cut his neck right now,” Liam replied sharply, moving to press his cutlass into Louis’ neck.

Desperately, Harry gave in. “Port Royal.”

Liam nodded shortly and then muttered to Louis, “Did you know about this?” 

Louis nodded, chin tapping the end of Liam’s cutlass. 

“And you did not tell me.”

“I was scared to,” Louis breathed.

“Why?” Liam asked back. His voice was softer, almost a whisper. Earnest in his disbelief.

“I— For fear of your reaction. I would have to tell you how I knew where Zayn was, and then you would know about Harry, and you might have killed us. I did not want you to think I had betrayed you.”

“But you did.”

“I know,” Louis confessed, “but I just wanted a little more time to pretend I hadn’t.”

Liam swallowed, mulling over Louis’ words. Then, lowering his cutlass an inch, he glanced to Harry and said, “I will not kill you, but I will do what is fair. I will call a mutiny, and then you will both go to trial. You can explain yourselves then and it will be up to the crew whether you live or die.”

“Thank you,” Louis said. He almost sighed, but he could not quite. Because a trial was a mercy, it was an allowance of time for him to come up with a plan. It was a chance for him to get his men to understand why he’d done what he had. It was a chance for them to believe him. But Louis had no faith that they would.

“Do not thank me, Louis,” Liam replied. “I may give you a fair trial, but I will not influence my men. If they decide to keelhaul you, I will not stop them.”

Louis swallowed.

He had seen men keelhauled. It was a slow, painful death. He had seen their cut up bodies, bloodied from the barnacles that lined the underside of the ship. He had seen how men would pull them from one side of the ship to the other with enough speed to cut them without drowning them.

It felt like a certainty that a ship full of pirates who had just evaded slaughter would be out for blood. They would not care about why Louis had done what he did. They would not care that Liam might find Zayn. They would be out for someone to blame. Someone to kill.

“What is the flag we must raise?” Liam asked Harry.

“It’s white with a large black X in the middle.”

Liam took this information and mulled over it. Eventually, he started to nod to himself. And then he pulled away from Louis and sheathed his cutlass. Louis felt all the breath rush out of him. Decidedly, Liam said, “If this is to work, we do not want our men to be more panicked than they are. It is chaos out there. They need to be led. So Louis, you will go out to deck and give them orders to calm down. Then you will take the bedsheets and you will fashion this flag out of them. If the flag works, you will surrender peacefully. Okay?”

Louis nodded glumly.

“Good. While we do that, we will be forced to hide Harry until we are out of this. I won’t have my men distracted from the Spanish. He will remain in here, tied up. Ernest will watch him.”

Harry agreed with a nod of the head, so Louis followed suit.

“Louis,” Liam added. “Do you have any weapons in here?”

Louis knitted his eyebrows questioningly.

“I won’t be having Styles get out of his restraints to kill Ernest. Do you have any weapons here I should remove?”

There was the cutlass under the bed. The one Harry had found the week before. They had put it back after their spar, and Louis  _ knew _ Harry knew it was back there. Louis weighed up whether he should give it away to Liam or not. To do so would be to prove his trustworthiness to Liam, but to  _ not _ would be to leave Harry without a weapon if they ended up boarded by the Spanish.

Louis swallowed and glanced over to Harry.

He was looking up at Louis with an understanding expression. He knew the decision Louis had to make, and what the right answer would be. Liam had their lives in his hands. Louis needed to respect that, to do anything within his power to earn back his trust. He needed to admit to having the cutlass.

And yet, when Louis looked back to Liam, he shook his head.

“No,” Louis lied.

It was the wrong decision, but Louis was a pirate. He did not believe in right or wrong, only survival. He trusted Harry would not use the blade to kill Ernest. He was only a child, barely fourteen.

“Are you sure? I know you,” Liam prodded.

“I’m sure. Ernest has all the ones I had on me.”

Liam looked at him like he did not believe him.

So Louis quickly added, “I removed the rest of them when Harry first came on board, when I did not yet know him. You can check.”

Liam looked at him with narrow eyes, but then he took a resigned breath and nodded. “Okay. Good. Ernest, there is rope in the top drawer of Louis’ desk. Bring it to me please.”

Louis thanked his lucky stars that Liam was often too credulous, too clement, for his own good.

Ernest did as he was told, placing Louis’ weapons carefully on the ground and then going over to fetch the rope. After he placed it in Liam’s hand, he scuttled back to his post and snatched up Louis’ weapons again.

Liam twisted the rope in his hands as he turned to Harry and said, “Now put on your garms and stand.”

Louis stood in silence as Liam tied Harry to the bed. It was a sight that Louis had seen before, Harry being tied up, but now it was cast in a whole new light. Harry was just as malleable as when Louis had done the same thing to him, but now his demeanor appeared more worried, more surrendered than it did simply put on for show. There was nothing purposefully arrogant within in him. There was no loose smile across Harry’s face, no snappy, playful remarks. Instead, he simply watched Louis with wide, wet eyes as Liam jerked his arms towards the bedposts. 

Louis swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat. He could not help it, but he knew what Harry was thinking. He knew the thought swimming in Harry’s glossy eyes. He knew it because he was thinking the same thing. 

These few minutes would be the last moments they spent together.

If Harry’s plan worked and the Caine behind them did not blast them with cannons like stones to the head, they would still be killed. Harry would be slain with delight by Louis’ crew, no matter the fact that he had hatched the plan that saved their lives. No matter the fact that he knew Zayn. It was the fact that he carried his name that would seal his fate.

And Louis, Louis would be killed no matter what too. He would have his captaincy stripped from him, quite rightfully, and then he would be punished with a slow death.

Louis could almost laugh. He had known it would end like this all along, it had been inevitable. A life with Harry would always be short, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth that is should be cut quite so quickly.

So Louis didn’t laugh. He knew it would come out strangled.

A part of him considered offing himself before his crew could, before he stepped outside and acted the part of captain one last time. If he ran for Liam or for his own knives, he would surely be stabbed before he could make it. It would be a swift death.

But it would be  _ certain _ death. 

Despite the anguish within Louis, the overwhelming bitterness, he could not shake the thought that it would be better to bide his time than decide his fate and enact his death now. Because with each passing moment that Louis acted obediently, it was another moment for him to bargain for his life. If he simply got the chance to explain, then he might get away with just being tossed to the sea with Harry, a jolly boat, and a day’s worth of rotten food.

He would take it gladly.

So Louis kept his feet stuck to their spot next to the door, and he silently watched Liam finish tying Harry to the bed. He did nothing as Liam tore one of the sheets from the bed, snatched ink from Louis’ desk and then come up to him and shove them into Louis’ chest. 

“You’ll be needing these,” Liam said without emotion.

Then he led them outside.

* * *

Sunlight blinded Louis for a moment as he first stepped outside, the bright glow too much against the unease in his chest. He cast a hand over his brow and let his eyes adjust to the madness outside.

Limbs were flying, men were yelling at each other, out of frustration and sheer panic. Some who were more organized were tossing piles of cutlasses and flintlocks and galley knives and anything that could fashion a weapon to the ground for each other to collect. Others were running around below deck, as though that would help them.

Louis had never seen them look so wild, so panicked.

Louis turned his attention above the swarming mess and spotted Tavis immediately. He was up in the crows nest, exactly where he should have been. And though he was merely a silhouette against the sun, Louis knew he was looking down at him. He could see the bow of his shoulders, the flick of his hair. 

Louis did not hesitate to give Tavis an ugly stare.

“Men!” Louis bellowed, turning his head back to the mess on deck. “We have a plan. Keep your heads!”

“Where have you been?” one of them, a stout man with a long beard, cried.

Liam shot Louis a venomous look, but he said nothing as Louis shouted back to the man, “We have been inside putting together our plan, now shut it so we can pull it off!” Then he turned his voice to the rest of his crew and added, “Men! Collect your weapons and stand guard. We may not have gunpowder, but we will still fight if we need. I’m going to attempt to deter those Spaniards. We will only fight if I fail, which I assure you, I will not.” It always helped to reassure them when even Louis wasn’t sure of their chances. They fought better that way. “I will call if we are to be boarded. Until then, calm yourselves.”

Louis wasted no time in shooting up to the navigation deck, where Niall gave him a stressed, wide eyed look. Louis did not want to explain why it had taken him so long to join him, not amongst the noise and chaos of everyone scrambling. So instead, he threw the bed sheet flat on the ground and got right to painting their make-shift flag.

Louis worked away, pouring ink onto the sheet as fast as he could. Despite the clamour on the lower decks, Niall was surprisingly quiet. Focused. It was nice, gave room for Louis to gulp a deep breath and attempt to keep a steady hand. He’d almost been expecting him to shoot him questions as to what the bloody hell he was doing, but Niall hadn’t said a word. 

Louis glanced up at his navigator for what was meant to be a mere second. But the sight of Niall pulled Louis’ eyes to a halt. Liam was in his ear, whispering something. And Niall was looking at Louis with shock.

So he knew.

That was why he was so quiet.

Liam had wasted no time in telling him.

Louis forced himself to look away and finish his painting. He swallowed his guilt.

The X was an ugly, rushed, lopsided thing. Louis wondered if they’d still be boarded for the sheer fact that the Spaniards thought it so terribly done. But his hands had been shaking the whole time, and Louis had been rushing. He couldn’t give the Caine enough time to get close enough to clearly see the the Black Dagger was in fact boarded by pirates.

He quickly stood to pull up finished flag. The fabric was wet through where the ink had stained the sheet, and as Louis peeled it away, big black marks had already stained the wood.

“Get this up!” Louis called to one of the riggers near him. “Now!”

The rigger took it from him, a look of confusion on his face. “What is this, Cap?” he asked.

“Our way out of this,” was all Louis said.

So the rigger took it away, and Louis could only watch with bated breath as the sheet was slowly hoisted up into the sky.

The Black Dagger was sailing fast, all masts out for the wind to catch, and so their new flag licked ferociously in the wind, flicking black wet droplets down into the ocean.The X had begun to bleed, long black lines streaming out from the shape.

It looked terrible, completely rushed. There had to be no way the Spaniards would believe it.

Louis took a spyglass from the crewmate closest to him and held it to his eye, hopeful to see if they did.

There, in the warped, smeared distance were merchant men waiting steadily, calmly, to catch the Black Dagger. They lined the edges of the Caine with rifles in their hands, and swords at their hips. Two men were at the helm, they were talking to each other. One of them was pointing at the flags on Louis’ ship.

They were too far for Louis to see their faces properly. Too far to gauge their reactions any more than the fact that one had his arm up and the other was steering the wheel. 

Louis did not want to look away until he could tell what they were doing.

Liam was a sudden sound in his ear. “Niall!” he called.

Louis took the spyglass from his eye to find Liam up on the edge of the ship, looking back at the Caine with a hand holding his glasses steady on his face. He turned back to Niall and shouted, “They are slowing!”

Louis went to say something but Niall beat him to it. He whooped and then asked, “Should I stay with the wind and keep up the distance?”

“Aye!” Liam shouted. “Keep them as far away as possible until we can no longer see them! Once we lose them behind the horizon, get back on course for Brazil.”

Niall gave Liam a strong, definite nod. He grinned too, relief cracking through the lines in his cheeks. “I can’t bloody believe that worked,” he said, turning back to the wheel to keep it steady.

Louis couldn’t believe they were doing — saying — all this without him. They were talking around him, as though Louis were nothing more than a lousy rat that had clambered aboard. As though he wasn’t the one to paint them their flag.

Bitterly, Louis took a step away from Liam and Niall. He didn’t know where he would go, where he even  _ could  _ go, but anywhere was better than being stood in the middle of the friends he’d clearly just lost.

If he ran fast enough, he could make it back to his quarters and barricade the door. He could afford himself just one more minute with Harry before it was all over. Before his crew stole his title and grated him against the barnacles below the ship.

Louis turned.

And he crashed into someone. 

A body was suddenly there, pressed right up against him. Stumbling back. Black hair slashed Louis’ face.

Tavis.

Louis looked up at the boy. He was grinning down at Louis, apologetic. Completely unaware that Louis had just lost everything. Completely unaware that he did not need apologise because Louis was no longer a man worthy of it.

Completely unaware, Louis quickly remembered, that Louis had seen him collecting water in the dead of night.

Louis’ eyes sharpened like a hawks and he found himself striking at Tavis’ neck with claws. Grabbing him. Louis shoved him several steps backwards until Tavis was at the edge of the ship. His legs against the bannister.

“You,” Louis hissed, tightening his hand around Tavis’ throat.

Tavis grabbed at the fingers clenched around his throat and shot Louis an alarmed, panicked look.

“How fucking  _ dare _ you,” Louis added, jerking Tavis’ head with the weight of his words.

“What— what are you talking about?” Tavis spluttered.

“You ruined the gunpowder. I know it was you.”

Tavis shook his head. As much as he could with Louis gripping it so. 

“You did! You liar! You’ve ruined everything!” Louis spat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tavis cried.

Liam and Niall were suddenly at Louis’ side, trying to pull him away. Liam was saying something but Louis wasn’t paying attention. 

“You do know! You tampered with the gunpowder like a fool! You’d have killed us all had I not just saved our ship!” Louis continued.

“It was not me!” Tavis breathed. His voice had started to collapse under Louis’ grip. 

“Louis!” Liam barked, trying to yank back his shoulder.

But Louis was a steady weight. He was unmoving. Nothing would pull his grip from Tavis’ throat, the anger in his veins gave him too much strength. Tavis had taken everything away from him. He had, for whatever strange reason, poured water over all their gunpowder. He had taken any defence the ship had. He had caused all this chaos, gotten Harry and himself found out. If Tavis had not ruined everything, Louis would still be holed up in his room. He would still have time. He would not be  _ wasting _ time pretending to be captain before he was brought to trial and slaughtered.

Poison bled through Louis’ veins.

It bubbled beneath his skin. It made his cheeks warm, his eyes glow. His heart pulsate.

Louis tipped his head to the side and sneered at his wain, his young Tavis. “I know you, Tavis. You’re a bad liar. I saw you taking water in the night.”

“You—” Tavis started, eyes bulbous. “You—” his face changed. Went stoney. He smiled. “You are a bad captain, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis sucked in a shock of air. His skin went cold. He was so taken aback by the change in Tavis’ eyes, the death in them, that his grip faltered.

Tavis’ eyes shifted to Liam. To Niall. Their arms fell from Louis’ shoulders. Lowly, Tavis said, “A captain should never sleep with the enemy, Louis. Lest he be discovered.”

“What the fuck are you talking—” Louis paused as realisation dawned on him. His voice caved in on itself. “My locks. It was you, you snuck into my room.”

Tavis raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “And I saw you the day Captain Styles came aboard. I saw how you didn’t throw him overboard. And I saw how you snuck away food, how you didn’t leave your room because you were too busy being  _ fucked _ .” 

Louis thought of how Tavis had seemed so interested in his bathroom, his measly toilet. He hadn’t been interested in his porcelain at all. He  _ had  _ been looking for Harry.

And then he thought of why Tavis was in his room in the first place. The conversation they had. 

The spoiled food.

“It was you who ruined our food,” Louis breathed. “Everything was  _ you _ .”

“You’re finally catching on,” Tavis grinned. “I thought you would find me out when poor, young Tavis came trudging into your room with too much nerve and enthusiasm.”

“Why would you do any of this?” Liam cut in. There was something cutting, insulted in his voice.

Tavis turned his grin to him, happily ignoring the grip still around his throat. “To build distrust with our wonderful captain of course. No one would believe me if I simply said he had the one and only Harry Styles in his room. I had to show that he was not as in charge as everyone thought. Not as trustworthy. And I needed a way to turn you to Brazil.”

“Why Brazil?” Liam asked.

“To lead you into the clutches of the trade ships. I would see no better punishment than you hanging from the gallows.” Tavis turned his attention back to Louis. “You see,  _ Captain _ , I spied you betraying your shipmates and I thought it a perfect opportunity to take the ship for myself. So I ruined your food and I ruined your gunpowder to lead you to Brazil without any weaponry. I was going to go inland with you to collect supplies, and then I was going to act as young as I always do and lead you right into the hands of the soldiers that line the streets of Pernambuco.”

Tavis reminded Louis too much of himself. He was sharp, callous. Always playing a game. Louis had taken captaincy for himself in such a similar fashion. It would have impressed him to see such plans paved for someone else, were it not for the fact that Tavis was not as smart as he thought himself to be. He had taken away their guns. Their food. He had put his shipmates in too much risk of death and starvation to win them over had he pulled this off.

“And yet,” Louis sneered, tightening his grip around Tavis’ throat so that he struggled to swallow, “here you are, found out. You are merely a stupid boy who tried to starve his whole ship just to punish his captain. No one would vote for your captaincy after that. Not to mention, you failed to pull off your plan, and now you are here spilling every crime you have committed against your crewmates.”

“It’s worth it to have seen the look on your face,” Tavis smiled, struggling under the press of Louis’ fingers.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Louis spat, “for you’ve only sealed your fate.”

“You’d really kill me in front of your whole crew,” Tavis breathed as Louis’ grip grew even tighter. “They’re all watching you right this minute, and they’re sure to learn of your own crimes.”

Louis didn’t need to look away to know that his crew were in fact watching. The ship had grown quiet. Niall and Liam’s open mouthed looks of shock would surely be mirrored across every man on that ship. Everyone thought Tavis to be too youthful, too keen, to deserve any sort of death. They would immediately question their captain.

Louis did not care.

“I would not hesitate,” Louis taunted, tightening his grip around Tavis’ neck.

“You’re lying,” Tavis managed, struggling to smile while Louis squeezed the breath out of him. His voice was entirely hoarse, scratched away by Louis’ fingernails. “You care too much about what your crew thinks to betray them in front of their eyes. They’ll kill you,  _ sodomite _ .”

Louis’ nostrils flared. He brought his face so close to Tavis that he felt the weak breath of the boy against his cheek. He held him so tightly that Louis’ fingernails found blood. Tavis looked down at him through his eyelashes. His expression was of disdain, of arrogance, but his eyes were damp. Callously, Louis snarled, “I am already a dead man.”

And then Louis pushed.

Tavis fell.

He fell down to the depths of the ocean. The blue consumed him in a splash as small as the tact Tavis possessed. It seemed fitting, that he not be awarded any kind of momentous death. One minute he was there and the next he was not. The ocean would have him now.

The only reminder that Tavis had existed at all was the pulsing fire that rushed through Louis’ veins. The anger that still boiled within him, that did not subside with the thrill of shoving this kid off the ship. There was no release in the boys’ slaying, but that was not surprising. Louis was a survivor, he would kill without a second thought, but that did not mean he enjoyed it. Every life he took felt like a waste. Every man had potential and Louis tore it from them.

Louis dropped to his knees and he grabbed the bannister between his hands. He clung to it so tightly that splinters caught in his fingernails and peeled from the wood. Then he took a massive gulp of air and tried to stop himself from crying. He was not going to cause more of a scene. He was not going to let Tavis’ words about Louis’ inclination, his sodomy, get to him. 

Though it was difficult; Louis’ sodomy seemed to be the root of all evil in his life. His running from home where people knew him to join the royal navy. His being left for dead in Plymouth. His turning to piracy. His inability to find love openly. It all came back to his sodomy.

And that cut Louis deeper than any knife could.

Louis needed to ground himself, his chest was too tight. It was all knotted up. It hurt. He felt like he could not breathe. He needed to remind himself that there would be a way out of this. He needed to come up with a plan. He would not let his sodomy be the death of him too.

Harry had become a freedom to Louis, a permission to think hopefully. A permission, in fact, to not think at all. He didn’t need to think around Harry, he didn’t need to consider how to keep himself safe at all moments. Louis could say anything to Harry — there was an implicit knowledge that they were the same, and that they would often do the same thing as each other when put in opposite circumstances. There was a safety in Harry’s recklessness. An escape. Harry was a moment where sodomy did not equate to something to be taken in the shadows. He was a welcome hug in the morning and a reassuring kiss at noon and a conversation late into the night.

Harry was freedom.

All Louis wanted, really, was freedom.

He did not want to fight anymore.

But he had to.

Louis was about to be taken to trial and put to slow death, and Harry wouldn’t even be given a trial. He needed to find a way out of this. He needed to get back to Harry, his freedom, and he needed to get off this ship.

But all eyes were on Louis. His crew were watching him with unwaining eyes. They had their cutlasses drawn still, ready to fight, ready to kill, and Louis had nothing. He would not make it far, not without Niall or Liam taking him down, not without someone seeing Louis kill young Tavis without purpose and assume him as in the wrong. 

Louis considered calling to his men before Niall or Liam could, but surely he’d be gutted by one of them from behind. There was nowhere safe to stand where he could not be killed by someone. 

And he couldn’t do that to Harry. If Louis acted against his promise to surrender peacefully, he might get away from his crew himself, but Harry wouldn’t. If Louis jumped ship, Harry would be found. And Louis could not make it back to his room to get Harry first.

The distance between Harry and Louis was too great.

Louis’ grip on the bannister loosened. His knuckles cracked under the release. There was nothing Louis could do but submit himself to his fate and hope it worked out.

_ Now is when I die _ , Louis thought.

He closed his eyes and waited for Liam to bring him to trial.


	7. PEARL

**PEARL**

“Get up.”

It was Niall. He said it under his breath as he finally came over and prodded Louis with the end of his wooden leg. 

Louis took a moment to collect himself, but he did as he was told. As he stood, he swallowed and pressed down the edges of his shirt. He was done for, and he’d just given everyone a spectacle to look at, but that would not stop him from making any small attempt at appearing put together. If this was to be his curtain call, he’d go out like the man his crew had seen for the last several years. Not the one who’d just thrown a kid off the side of a ship.

“Okay,” Louis breathed shakily, nodding and giving the others a glum smile.

Niall, standing there with his arms folded, shook his head in disappointment at Louis. Then he took a step forward and said, quite seriously, “We should talk. In private.”

Louis looked to Liam. And to Louis’ surprise, he was motionless. He was looking at Niall, taking in his words just as Louis was, but not protesting in the slightest. He looked angered, dejected, yes, but ultimately conceding to Niall’s need to talk with Louis before mutiny was called.

Louis looked back to Niall with his eyebrows taught. He’d been expecting to be taken straight down to the lower deck and kicked in the knee, forced to the ground, as his crewmates called for his removal. 

But they hadn’t.

And now Niall was walking away from Louis and Liam, telling them to follow.

So Louis did. He followed Niall with his head high, but his eyes cast down. So his crew would see a proud man at a glance, and only notice the child beneath if they looked any closer.

Liam walked behind them both and by the close proximity of his footsteps, Louis suspected it was to make sure he did not run. 

None of them said nothing as they walked down the stairs towards the lower deck. Towards the door to the quarter gallery. 

Towards Louis’ room. 

Louis felt his heart skip when he realised they were going inside. Niall opened the door and waited stoically as Liam and Louis went in.

“Wha—” Louis started as Niall clicked the door shut behind them, sending the hallway into darkness. He wanted to ask why it was that he was being led away from his crew. Back to his room, back to where Harry was. If the flicker of his heartbeat was deserved. But Liam cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t,” he warned. 

Louis bit his tongue and turned towards the door at the end of the hallway. Ernest and Harry were right on the other side of the door. They were so close. Yet Louis felt like the wobbling space around himself was suddenly inescapable. He felt trapped, unable to comprehend what was going on around him. He couldn’t quite think straight anymore. So much had happened. He’d been snapped awake by Liam, then called out for his betrayals, then shoved outside to put on face and save the ship. Then Tavis came down and Louis pushed him into the clutches of the wide open ocean, soon to be dead when his body gave out. And now he was being shuttled back inside, back to Harry. Louis didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know if mutiny was still on the cards, he didn’t know if he could avoid his death or if this was merely a delay. There hadn’t been a moment for Louis to get some clarity, some sort of grasp on the situation. He felt like a passenger in his own body, merely being whisked around by a puppeteer. There was no time for a plan.

All he could do was follow Niall to his door and hope that Harry hadn’t taken the sword beneath the bed to Ernest’s throat. He could only hope that he could be close to Harry again. To touch him, hold him, kiss him for at least one more time. It would mean so much.

Niall got to the door and seemed to take a preparatory breath. As though he wasn’t sure what he would find on the other side of it. As if there were a possibility that Harry had been made up, and this was all a lie.

The only lie he’d find were the ones Louis had laid out for weeks. The lies that were about to be unravelled. The ones that said Louis had thrown a stowaway overboard, and that he hadn’t been falling for him.

Niall opened the door.

Ernest was standing in the middle of the room with one of Louis’ cutlasses weighing down his entire arm. He jumped as the door opened.

And Harry. Harry was exactly where he’d been left, tied up on the bed. His hands were still caught in the ropes that Liam had taken from Louis’ drawer.

Through the window, the Spanish ship behind them was drifting back into the distance.

Niall paused in the doorway and looked down at Harry. Harry, who had glanced up and caught eyes with him. To Louis, Harry appeared anxious, maybe fearful. Niall was entirely unreadable.

Niall, Louis and Liam walked into the room silently. Ernest took a step back to give them space.

“Sit,” Niall instructed to Louis. His voice was clinical as he motioned to the bed, next to where Harry was sitting motionlessly.

Louis did not stop to think about Niall’s reaction to all this, how he seemed so deeply offended yet managed to contain it as if he bolted up his emotions altogether. Instead, Louis took his seat as quickly as he could. Harry was looking up at him, his eyes wide and childlike and as exactly as Louis felt. He wanted to close the space between them so that they could take this on together.

As soon as Louis sat down, he reached for Harry. 

He did not turn to gauge the others’ reactions as he squeezed Harry’s hands with both of his own. But he did feel their gaze, their inability to understand. Their silent judgement. Nothing was said as Louis latched onto Harry.

Nothing was said aloud between Harry and Louis either, but the weight and warmth of their hands together said all they needed to. 

_I missed you._

_I need you._

_I’m scared._

Harry gave Louis a tiny half smile. His pupils were wide. His eyes were just a touch wet.

“Ernest, you can sit down,” Niall eventually said. He did not talk loudly but his voice felt too much for the silence of the room.

Ernest sat in the window, the sun beaming against his shoulders. He looked angelic, innocent, in the bright light, and that made Louis feel guilty. Ernest had nothing to do with any of this, he was merely a kid, and now here he was being drawn into issues that he should have no part in. He shouldn’t be on a pirate ship. He should be on land, with his mother.

Niall took a seat too, pulling over Louis’ desk chair so he could face them head on. Liam stayed where he was, leaning up against Louis’ dresser with his arms folded. He had a scowl right across his face, his eyes cast sharply on the hands Harry and Louis held between themselves. He looked like he did not want this conversation, but for whatever reason Niall wanted to talk and Liam was going to give him the chance.

Niall took a long moment and pushed his hands through his hair as though he was deep in thought. Then he looked up at Louis and Harry with an exasperated sigh.

“Explain everything,” was all he said.

“Everything?” Louis asked. It felt like a question he couldn’t answer. There was too much of _everything_ to explain. 

Niall motioned between Harry and Louis and replied, “All this. How did this— whatever this is— how did it happen?”

Louis wasn’t sure how to start. He wasn’t exactly sure when his relationship with Harry had even begun. He couldn’t simply explain that he’d fucked Harry and then fallen for him, that wasn’t the case. He’d have to explain how he got to that point. How Louis was enamoured with Harry from the very beginning. How Harry went from prisoner to lover. And why he was a prisoner at all.

So Louis started with the day they left Port Royal, when Harry was discovered below deck. Back when Louis would only call him _Styles_. He explained through long pauses and self conscious coughs, how he wanted to know Captain Harry Styles’ plans in coming onboard seemingly alone, so he took him to his room. He explained how he didn’t tell Niall or Liam about him because secretly, he was intrigued with Harry. Louis wasn’t able to explain why Harry had always felt like someone he wanted to himself. Louis attempted to of course, trying to put into words how Harry was so quick on his feet, so good at quipping back and forth with Louis, so wonderful at pulling down Louis’ walls. How he felt like an equal. How he had a gravitational pull that Louis couldn’t escape. But it came out wrong. It came out gushing, like Louis was a young child with a crush.

And that was crushing.

This was not a simple _infatuation_ that Louis was embarrassed by and trying to explain at all. Harry, his meant-to-be enemy, had made Louis reconsider the very fabric of his own existence. Suddenly, Louis wasn’t quite so alone in the world. There was someone else who understood what it was like to captain a ship, carry men’s lives in his hands, and do it all while being a sodomite. Harry knew what it was to not belong — not because of the decisions he’d made in his life, but because of what he was born as.

Louis hoped Liam might understand. He did not expect Niall would — he’d come into piracy because his merchant ship had been commandeered by a jolly roger. He’d only gotten into this life because it paid better than returning to England. 

Harry was silent as Louis detailed how the days turned from him being tied to the bedpost to him being a confidant that Louis took outside in the middle of the night. There were details that were foregone, of course. Louis did not explain to them how Harry tasted, how Louis felt beneath his body. He did tell them how their relationship changed with a game of chess, but he did not explain the licorice stain on Harry’s lips, nor the words he purred against Louis’ belt.

Louis explained the case of Zayn too. How he’d found himself on Harry’s ship and how Louis felt as though he had to sit on that information. Niall appeared quietly surprised by this — he hadn’t yet known that Zayn was a part of this whole ordeal. Liam chewed on his lips every time his lover, his Ziggy, was mentioned by name. But neither of them interrupted.

When Louis was done and everyone was caught up, the room fell into another silence. This one long and stretching. It made Louis grow a lump in his throat, feeling like what he’d said was not enough to save them — even though he’d been talking near on an hour. He didn’t know if he’d given too much away or not enough at all. He wanted Niall and Liam to understand how someone like Louis could have a relationship with someone such as Harry. He wanted them to know how easy it had been. How it felt like it could not have ended in a different way. 

He wanted them to understand why Louis kept his secrets.

But then Niall scratched his hairline and looked at Louis like he was trying to pick him apart. Trying to figure out how this all made sense, and why Louis would ever consider sleeping with the enemy. He took Louis in entirely, looking at him like he was a map — something Niall could lay out and read where others could not.

“What did you expect to happen, Louis?” he asked steadily. “How did you think this would end? You’ve betrayed your crew too many times to count, keeping Styles in here. Sleeping with him. Prancing him about the deck.”

Louis nodded because he knew it was true. “I’m not really sure.”

“Do you regret your actions?” Niall asked.

Louis thought to himself. He thought of how every minute he spent with Harry was another nail in his own coffin. He’d flagrantly disregarded the worth and agency of his crew every time he kissed Harry. And yet, Louis shook his head.

“No,” he said simply. “I can’t.”

“He means this much to you?”

Louis nodded.

And then Niall nodded to himself, took a thoughtful moment, then looked to Harry and said, “And what of you? You haven’t said a word this entire time.”

Harry quietly cleared his throat, squeezed Louis’ hand, and said, “Louis means a great deal to me.”

Niall looked at him pointedly, like he did not believe the words in Harry’s mouth.

So Harry continued, “I gave up all my plans for him. I have no doubt that means I’ve given up my ship and my captaincy after today too. He is worth it.”

He sounded so decided. Something swelled in Louis’ chest.

Niall took this information in. He looked thoughtful. Or doubtful. Louis wasn’t sure. He was holding Harry’s gaze, looking imperviously at him. “So what do you hope to happen now? Punishment is to be had. Your little idea with the flag might have saved the ship, but you still clambered aboard in the first place.”

Harry took a while to say anything. He glanced at Louis solemnly before he spoke.

“I came on board without a crew and without any weapons. In that way, I was no different than any other stowaway. I will admit that I originally had plans to kill Louis and commandeer the ship, but I did not carry through with them. Once I laid eyes on Louis, I did not even begin them.”

“And?”

“And,” Harry breathed, “I don’t believe I should be punished for a plan I did not carry out. I have caused this ship no strife since I have been in this room. All I want now is to leave — with Louis, if he wishes to come. What is the harm in us leaving together? As though we had never been here in the first place?”

Niall scoffed and said, “So you just get off scot-free?”

“Perhaps you might consider my saving the ship as payment for the crime of coming aboard,” Harry offered.

Niall brought a hand to his chin and chuckled like he did not believe Harry’s gall. Not even Louis could believe what he was saying. “If you leave, you have every opportunity to go back to your own ship and bring them back to kill us. Why would we ever let you do that?”

“I won’t,” Harry said.

“How can I trust that, Styles?”

“You—” Harry started before he gave up. 

“Exactly,” Niall said. “And besides, it’s not as though you could leave with Louis. Your saving this ship doesn’t excuse his betrayals. He did not stop Tavis. He kept an enemy on board for weeks. He lied to us.”

It seemed no one was sure what to say about that one.

But then, very quietly, so quietly that Louis almost missed it, Ernest piped up.

“My mother told me that my father was a royal.”

They all looked over at him with confusion.

Ernest had a look of deep thought on his face, as though he were putting a great puzzle together in his mind. Then he glanced down at the lot of them and continued, “She said they were in love but they could not be together because mother was a commoner. He used to sneak her into the castle so they could see each other, and then when she birthed me, he would come down into the streets to visit us. I think I even remember him holding me once when I was still a babe. They had to hide their love, but I don’t think that love was wrong. She said that they were breaking the king’s law by doing so, but there was no other way about it, they could not help it that they fell for each other. She said she would give up everything bar me to be with him, no matter the consequences. And then one day soldiers came to our home and took mother away and I never saw her again. For what?”

“What are you trying to say, Ernest?” Niall asked.

“If Louis is in love, then can’t you understand why he did what he did? Risk doesn’t matter when you’re in love. You do anything to keep it. It killed my mother to love my father, and yet she still did.”

“You can’t love someone in a fortnight,” Niall replied.

“How do you know?” Ernest asked back like he truthfully did not know.

“I’ve never seen it,” Niall said.

“I have.”

Everyone looked towards the source of those two words. They came out of Liam. 

Zayn.

They all knew how deeply Liam and Zayn’s bond ran. How their love was threaded so thoroughly into their being that they would still search for each other after five years, not knowing if the other was dead or alive. It would have been wrong of Niall to say that they didn’t count.

So instead, he turned back to Harry and Louis, and asked, “Is this love?”

Louis didn’t know.

Love was the thing of fairy tales, of happily ever afters. He’d never given himself the permission to consider that sort of thing a possibility in his own life. But he knew that Harry made him feel something he’d never experienced before. It was a completeness. An ease. His hand in Louis’ was a steady weight. An anchor.

Louis was scared to call it love, not this soon, not this easily, but he was scared to call it anything else. Harry was too indescribable.

So he twisted his mouth and shrugged and said nothing at all.

Niall gave a single nod.

Louis glanced over at Harry to see if he was affected by his inability to give an answer — whether he was offended to be unloved or not. But Harry looked indifferent. Louis hoped it was because he understood. Louis _hoped_ that Harry knew that love was a word that weighed more than an anchor.

Though when Louis looked back to Niall, his eye instead caught on the look on Liam’s face. He was staring at the space between Harry and Louis, where Louis’ gaze had just filled, and he looked pensive. Perhaps even, regretful.

“Might I...” Liam started, voice quiet and thoughtful. “Might I suggest something.”

Niall turned to him and waited.

“I think…” Liam continued, thinking very carefully over his words, “I might have been quick to pull the trigger on Louis.” He shifted on the spot, wringing his hands together. “If… if Harry can find us Zayn, perhaps… perhaps we could exchange him for Louis. Not Harry, but _Louis_.”

“What do you mean?” Niall asked.

“I mean, if we have Zayn, would Harry’s ship still be inclined to attack us? If Louis and Zayn switch places, I would be indebted to them but so too would they to us. We would both have someone on the opposing ship we wish no death on.”

Niall thought on this for a moment, and it was only then that Louis started to pick apart his dynamic with Liam. Liam was the second in command on this ship, he should have been in charge in Louis’ absence. And yet here he was, second in command yet again — to Niall. Niall, who was always practical and analytical, and less swayed by such frivolities as emotions. Perhaps that was why he didn’t come in here and immediately lombast Harry for being the captain of the ship that stole his leg from him. Perhaps Louis had misjudged, had underestimated, Niall’s ability to see things simply as they were. Harry _was_ the cause of his injury, but it was also a case of circumstance. He’d been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, and his severed leg was merely an occupational hazard. Harry had been the one to call the cannons that day, but Louis had led them to be there in the first place. And their shipment back from Bermuda had been set up by Niall himself. In the end, it had been Harry who left Louis a ship in a good enough shape to make it back to Nassau on that day, and Niall with one less leg, but at least with his life. Blame was a difficult thing to place when Louis considered circumstance.

Of course, Niall’s ability to see things so clearly, so neutrally, did not always have its benefits. Because he looked up at Liam with an expression of skepticism and said, “But you have loved Zayn for more years than any of us has sailed. I don’t think that is comparable to what Louis and Styles have been doing for the past fortnight.”

Liam nodded, but it seemed he’d already taken this into account. “That is true Niall, but if what Louis’ is being honest, I can understand why he’s done what he has. Those of us who are taken by other men are bred to hide everything about ourselves, we’re taught from the time we are born that this world is not our own and we cannot live freely under the watch of the sun. Perhaps we shouldn’t look at Louis’ actions as slights against us, and more as symptoms of the hardships we have been through. I was quick to judge poorly when I first saw Captain Styles in here, rightfully so, but now that we know the details, it’s hard to cast scorn. I can’t. Not with knowing what Louis has lived through, what any of us have lived through. He _did_ lie to us, but out of fear that we wouldn’t understand his love. And I call it that purposefully. Louis speaks of Harry as I do with Zayn, and though he might not call it love himself, I recognise it. But I think, Niall, we should be the last to judge how each other loves. Louis feared telling us in case we decided to kill him, and here we are, deciding on whether to kill him. For having a lover. That lover may be a rival captain who has taken the lives of our crew, but we are _all_ pirates here.”

Niall took Liam’s words on carefully, mulling over them as if they were corn stuck in his teeth. While he did this, Louis did the same. Liam, his tall, square, gentle beast had said he’d recognised the _love_ on Louis’ lips. And though Louis did not recognise it himself, did not think himself capable of such a word, he felt the weight of someone who did. He looked to Harry again, searching for the words in his face. But Harry’s eyes were cast downward. Louis could not find a single vowel. Whatever Harry was thinking, it was between him and his feet. 

So Louis gave Harry’s hand yet another squeeze, a gentle reminder that he was still there, and that Harry could — should — share his thoughts. Even if he did not say them aloud. 

Harry squeezed and held Louis’ hand back. Tightly.

He did not look up at Louis, but he did sniff. He did blink a few times. 

Louis wondered if perhaps he was holding back tears, and if so, what were the words that had set him off. It put a heavy lump in Louis’ throat. He did not want to see Harry like this, so quiet, so timid. It was a surprise to Louis how silent and still Harry had been this whole time. He took everything that had transpired as though he expected it, as though he were being walked to his death willingly. It was so unlike him. If the others were not here and it were just Harry and him, Louis would have no doubt that they’d be making dangerous jokes about what trouble they were in.

But they weren’t alone and Harry had not a single word to say.

So Louis stroked the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb. If Harry wasn’t tied up by the rope that snaked from his wrists to the bedpost, Louis would have lifted Harry’s delicate fingers and kissed his knuckles. 

Eventually, Niall shifted in his seat and looked up at Niall. He sighed and said, “Ultimately, it’s up to you Liam. You’re in charge here. We can call mutiny or deal with this ourselves. What do you think?”

Liam looked between Niall and Harry and Louis and carefully said, “I could not forgive myself for sending you to your death, Louis. Not for hiding a lover. But I don’t believe you should captain this ship when that lover should be Harry Styles. _I_ can forgive that, and I suspect you can too, Niall. But the crew, I don’t know that they will. Perhaps I am too soft, but you’ve done good by us for so many years, Louis. So now that I know everything, Niall, I cannot call a mutiny. I would feel responsible for Louis’ undue execution.”

“Perhaps you are too soft, Liam,” Niall said. “Though I think I can understand.”

Liam looked down towards Niall and continued,“Louis isn’t faultless when it comes to Tavis, but neither was our night guard. Neither was anyone else who saw Tavis on whichever nights and didn’t do anything — whether it was suspicious or not. And you know I’ve been looking for Zayn for too many years. I’ve been looking while not knowing if he was dead or alive. But now I do know, and while you might not think it an equal exchange, I would give anything to see Zayn again. I cannot miss this opportunity. I say we keep sailing for Brazil. I will act as captain and you, Niall, as quartermaster, and we will say Louis is sick and cannot leave his room. He can stay in here until we dock, and then when we do, we’ll make a plan to exchange Zayn for Harry and Louis.”

“It seems you’ve learned from the best that morality is a grey space,” Niall laughed darkly. 

“Perhaps.”

Niall stood, accepting of what Liam was proposing, and Louis could not believe his luck. He had escaped death another day. Niall started to walk to the door and then stopped on the spot. He glanced over at Louis and said quite solemnly, “I’m sorry things had to happen this way, Louis. You’re a good man who made some questionable decisions.”

It was the look of regret in Niall’s eyes that made Louis end his silence, his simple taking of everything Liam and Niall were giving him. He looked Niall square in the eye and said, “Aren’t we all?”

Niall slit his eyes at Louis for a moment, thinking over his words, but then his face cracked. And he smiled. It was tiny, barely visible, but Louis knew Niall’s face well. Niall nodded to himself and replied quietly, “I suppose we are.”

Liam came up to Louis after that and held out his hand. “Give me your key, so that I trust you won’t escape.”

Louis could deal with that. To be locked in his room with Harry was a better punishment than death. So he reached into his pocket and produced his room key, giving it to Liam.

“This is your only copy?”

“Yes,” Louis replied. And for once, he was being honest.

Liam went and collected the weapons Ernest had been looking after, and then led the three of them to the door to the outside. Louis watched them go, a quiet, glowing feeling building in his stomach as they opened the door and then closed it. As soon as they heard the lock click on the other side of the door, Louis jumped up and turned to Harry and started undoing his restraints. Unlike the last time Louis had done it, he was now only filled with relief. They would not be killed, they would not be forced to make a bloody escape, so long as they did not attempt to leave this room. 

Louis couldn’t even think of anything to say to Harry as he yanked at the knot in the rope right up against the bedpost. All he could do was grin like an idiot and pull as quickly as he could. There were two knots to untie, the one at the bedpost and one right at Harry’s wrists — that one was securing the rope closely to Harry’s skin so he could not shimmy his way out. And Louis had to give it to Liam, he knew how to tie a knot. 

Louis managed to undo the first knot and he went to move onto the second, but he didn’t get the chance. 

Harry was upon him. 

He stood and threw almost his whole entire weight at Louis, throwing up his tied hands to cup either side of Louis’ face. He pushed Louis right back into the dresser at the end of the bed, making Louis hit his head against the glass of the mirror.

And then Harry’s lips were on his. 

Harry kissed him harshly and desperately, as though they hadn’t seen each other in millenia. And Louis suddenly realised that it felt like they hadn’t, they’d been so consumed in each other for so many days that any second apart felt like an hour. Louis gripped his hands to Harry’s waist as he was shoved up onto the frame of the dresser, his legs dangling off the edge. Then he kissed Harry back as intensely as Harry was kissing him.

It almost hurt their lips to kiss so fiercely, and the rope between Harry’s wrists was like a noose on Louis, pressing up against his adam’s apple. He did not notice though. He wanted to feel Harry as closely, as passionately, as he could. He had not realised it until Harry was so close that it hurt more unbearably to be apart from Harry than to be choking beneath his kisses.

Harry grabbed Louis’ face tighter and kissed him so bitingly that Louis’ bottom lip slid up against the sharp side of his teeth. And so Louis pulled back for a short second to readjust himself and as he did, Harry looked up at him with intense, begging eyes.

Louis could feel the need in his own, staring up at Harry with wet moon-shaped pupils.

They did not need to say any words. They both knew that the look they shared said _I missed you_ as though they were yelling it, screaming it from the crow’s nest at the top of the mast. 

They brought their lips back together and Louis pushed his fingers up into the hair at the back of Harry’s head. He gripped tightly — so tightly Harry should have yelped. Maybe in different circumstances, he would have. But pain was the last thing either of them was noticing. All they could feel was wanting and longing and a need to fill the empty pit in their stomachs that had been left in the wake of their being found out. Now they could kiss and it would not matter if Liam could hear from his room. It would not matter if Niall heard them from above.

Louis could not breath at all now under the rope against his throat, so he pulled back for another second and tugged on Harry’s wrists so he could put them over and behind his head.

“I need you, love,” Louis uttered, before pulling Harry’s mouth back to his.

They kissed shortly and sharply and then Harry breathed against Louis’ lips, “I’m sorry.”

Louis didn’t have the mind to think on what Harry meant, whether he was sorry for not being there enough for Louis while he begged for their lives, or something else. All Louis could do was pull Harry’s ear to his mouth and beg instead to him.

“I need you,” he uttered, pulling Harry tightly into himself. He needed to hug Harry, needed to feel Harry consume him entirely. There was no space between them that felt close enough. 

So Louis kissed Harry again. He pulled Harry’s neck roughly and brought their lips together, and this time he did not notice the toothy cuts they made on each other’s lips. Instead, they only searched for a closeness that would bring them relief. All Louis wanted was relief. He’d been so pent up, so eaten by emotions; his fear and his guilt and his anger. He wanted it all gone. He wanted to feel it all bleed out of his body. And the only way he could do that was if he had Harry — all of Harry. He had to have Harry’s mouth and his neck and his collar and his always-warm chest. 

Louis grappled at all of Harry’s body, trying to find the part of Harry that would feel _enough_ . But nothing did. He could not find consolation in the way their clothes rubbed together. _It was not close enough._

So then Louis tore at Harry’s clothes. He was too blinded by his own needing, by the taste of Harry’s needing on his tongue. Louis gripped the shirt he had clothed Harry with, and pulled at it until the seams started to tear. The patches of skin that Louis could finally touch were hot. They bled with heat. And it felt closer. Almost close enough.

Harry shifted his hands to collect the hair at the back of Louis’ head as his flanks were touched through the rips in his shirt. Roughly, Louis felt his head pulled backwards. His head and Harry’s hands hit the glass of the dresser and Louis liked it. It was easy to conflate pain with passion. But it made him want Harry’s hands on him like his were on Harry’s. It felt like he might find his comfort, his relief, if Harry could return the closeness.

Louis moved his mouth to Harry’s neck and bit at him, sucking dearly, as he moved a hand behind his head and started tugging on the knot on Harry’s restraints. Harry didn’t seem to know what to do, he seemed to want to have his mouth on Louis just as desperately, but he couldn’t reach Louis’ mouth anymore. All he could do was let out a whimpering, shaking breath. Then he took as much solace as he could in the crook of Louis’ shoulder, sucking harshly on his collar.

“I need your hands,” Louis muttered against Harry’s neck as he continued to loosen the knot behind his head.

All Harry could give him was a rough squeeze at the base of his skull. 

The knot started to loosen. Enough for Harry to shift his hands. One in Louis’ hair, the other to the space below his ear. He thumbed harshly at Louis’ skin, fingers scraping at his baby hairs. 

Finally, Louis pulled at the knot enough for Harry’s hands to slip out from their restraints altogether. At the exact moment that the ropes fell low on Harry’s arms and he could slip out his right hand to cradle Louis’ chin, he pulled Louis’ lips back to his.

Harry bit at Louis’ bottom lip, tugging it like he might find what he needed there.

Still, it was not enough.

Harry put his hands all over Louis, throat grumbling as he was finally able to put his hands on the heat of Louis’ flesh. He grabbed at Louis’ waist and pulled sharply in towards himself. Louis felt himself slide so quickly across the dresser that he would have gotten whiplash had it not been for the warmth of Harry’s waist between his legs.

And then Harry’s hands were up the back of Louis’ shirt. His nails were dragging along Louis’ skin, bumping over each individual rib. Playing Louis like an instrument as was about to break. 

Louis put his own hands up the front of Harry’s shirt, feeling his white-hot skin, the sweat that had broken out at some time amongst the chaos. Louis wanted to take it from Harry. He wanted to replace the beads of sweat with kisses and love bites. He wanted to take Harry’s fear and guilt and bite it all away.

Louis was not sure how the air in the room changed, but it felt like a wind. His fire turned red, and his want for Harry’s closeness to comfort him collected in the pit of his stomach. This entire time, Louis’ chest had been a knot tighter than the ones he’d taken from Harry’s hands. But feeling Harry’s skin, and feeling Harry’s hands on his, only made the knot build and twist, and his relief felt further and further away. So the wind changed and Louis pulled Harry’s crotch into his with the legs he had around his waist.

The thick line Louis felt press up against his own took him by shock. He had not realised how their need had manifested. He had not realised that closeness and comfort was something that might be found through the press of their trousers. It felt wrong, felt like this was not something Louis should find with sex. Sex was a thing of fun, of play, of feeling good momentarily. But this felt like a baptism. It felt healing. It felt like Louis would be born a new person, his worries and his crimes washed away, if he were able to feel Harry push himself into him. Nothing would be closer than the meeting of their bodies. It would be a communion of the flesh. Louis felt as though he would find something he’d never found before, like walking into the afterlife. It would be bright and white and peaceful, and he’d feel his closeness with Harry on a level that was not mortal.

“I need—” Louis started as he pulled away from their kiss for a single breath. But he could not finish his thought. He could not find the words to explain the pooling feeling in his stomach, the need for Harry to fill him as physically as he did emotionally. 

Harry seemed to understand though. He seemed to feel the same air blowing around them. It was the same air that pulled all other sound, all other distraction, from them. They were in their own universe here. They were floating bodies in a white, shining sky. All they could feel was each other. Everything else was just space. Harry pressed his crotch into Louis’. He licked at Louis’ mouth and brought his hands to Louis’ hips, rolling himself against him. 

Louis could feel how _close_ he was to being close enough to Harry. He needed Harry. He _needed_ Harry.

Need was the only thing Louis could think about as he tugged at the drawstrings of Harry’s trousers. As soon as they were loose enough to slip, Louis pulled them downwards.

Then he took Harry in his hand.

He moved his hand up and down the shaft of Harry’s cock and felt himself shiver at the vibration of Harry’s moan against his mouth. 

Harry tightened his grip on Louis’ hips and Louis took the opportunity to tug at the fastenings of his own trousers. He got them undone and immediately Harry was yanking them off.

They brought their bodies back together, Louis’ trousers completely gone and Harry’s around his ankles, and Louis felt delirious at the feeling of their cocks against each other.

Harry kissed him again, breathing in Louis’ keening moans.

Louis could feel them begin feel close enough to Harry, but it wasn’t enough to quell the thrumming fire in his belly. For the first time in his life, he _wanted_ to be baptised.

So he roughly pushed Harry’s fingers down to the space below his perineum. Against his hole. 

Louis was too fired up. He could not feel pain, not in a way that hurt more than being away from Harry, so he pressed Harry’s fingers into himself.

Harry paused against him, seemingly just as in want of Louis, but not enough to tear him.

“Love,” Harry breathed between hard kisses.

Louis put his hands in Harry’s hair and pulled him in tightly, not wanting to give this moment away to words. He could understand what Harry was trying to say, his _I don’t want to hurt you_.

So Louis kept kissing at Harry as he blindly reached out a hand for the oil that was _somewhere_ on his dresser. His fingers bumped into trinkets, into books, into small bottles of perfume, and then finally, his hands found the cold glass of the bottle he was after. It was on its side, must have knocked over in their stormy passion, and oil had slicked down one side of it.

Louis picked it up and shoved it into Harry’s stomach.

Without a single word or even pulling away, Harry took the bottle from Louis and slicked his fingers.

Louis felt two of Harry’s fingers enter him and his spine split open with twinkling embers. He took in a sudden gulp of air, flinging his head back to hit the mirror once again.

Harry paused, as if he’d hurt Louis. But he hadn’t. Louis had felt a single spark of ecstasy take him over and had merely gotten overwhelmed by it. Relief started to feel in reach. So Louis pushed himself down onto Harry’s fingers haphazardly. He felt out of touch, out of control of his body. He needed Harry and he needed him entirely, and this was only delaying the process. Louis was needy, and he needed to be cured. He needed to be saved from his guilt, from his pain. He needed Harry to make things better.

Louis could wait no longer, dissatisfied with the halfway healing of Harry’s fingers alone.

He fisted Harry’s cock and pulled towards himself.

“You,” Louis muttered. “I need _you_.”

Harry bit Louis’ lip so he could no longer talk, but he obliged. He wiped oil on himself and then stood a little closer, propped Louis’ leg a little higher, and he was in.

Relief washed over Louis instantly.

Not relief as in peace. Relief as in, the thing that Louis was in need of, was suddenly upon him. In him. It was an itch being scratched. A mouth being fed. A boy finally being loved.

Louis pulled Harry’s lips towards his own and feasted on all the love he could taste. Harry tasted like salt and licorice and the trembling fear from a death just barely missed. He tasted like desperation and yearning and like he was just as in need of consolation. 

Though it was rough and handsy and almost painful, Harry did not fuck Louis. He did thrust himself into him so that the dresser knocked against the wall and perfume fell to the floor, but he did not _fuck_ him. What he did was take all the pent up anger and shame and guilt from every decision Louis had ever made to protect himself and spread it wide open. He took it all and he replaced it with the knowledge that Harry and Louis could not be any closer. They were not alone. And though they may not have tomorrow, they had right then. And so they made the most of it and bit love into each other’s mouths, and pressed bruises the colour of peaches into each other’s skin.

* * *

  
  


Louis could not say when it was over.

Once he was spent, he pulled Harry into a hug and collapsed against the mirror. Louis kissed Harry’s neck quietly, carefully, as though he were mending any injuries he’d just given him. And Harry kissed his neck back, the two of them snaking around and into each other. They peppered each other in delicate kisses that no longer hurt. Instead, they took care and nurtured and reminded each other very softly that their communion did not end with an orgasm. Louis petted Harry’s hair and Harry thumbed circles into Louis’ thighs, and they stayed like that for a good while — just pecking and stroking and breathing in each other’s air.

Eventually, Louis took a shirt from the top drawer beneath him and wiped at Harry and himself. He gently patted away the pearly droplets from their skin, his hand slightly shaking from the intensity of his come down. Harry laughed quietly, under his breath, as Louis did it. It was though he was quite taken with Louis’ delicate, uncouth dabbing. Though his humour didn’t last. Louis couldn’t even finish what he was doing before Harry was pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. Then another to his brow. Then another to his forehead.

Harry brought a finger to Louis’ chin and lifted Louis’ gaze from where he was dutifully watching his hands work away. He stared into Louis’ eyes — his gaze soft, attentive. He stayed like that for a long moment, until the sound of sloshing waves slowly started to seep back into Louis’ ears. Then, as quiet as the footsteps outside, Harry said to Louis, “We need not hide anymore.”

It was a statement that was not quite true. They could not tell Louis’ crew. They could not openly roam the ship. But it held truth in the fact that they did not bear their secret alone anymore. Though betrayed, Niall and Liam and Ernest knew they were together, and they seemed to let that knowledge sway their decision to spare Harry and Louis’ lives.

It felt like, if Louis’ crew did find out, the consequences might not be so bad. If three of his men could know and empathise and give Louis permission to love the wrong person, perhaps they might too. The consequences did not seem as scary. As bloody.

Though Louis did not think on Harry’s statement so deeply. He was too busy being sedated by the comfort Harry had pressed into his body. He’d found the closeness, the intimacy, he was after. All Louis could do was look up at Harry and blink and ask to be hugged again.

So their communion continued.

Harry picked Louis up and took him to the bed, and wordlessly he replaced Louis’ clothes. He changed him with delicate, deft fingers. And then he reclothed himself. When he was finished, Harry came over to Louis and laid the two of them onto the bed. He tucked Louis into himself and stayed there, motionless, so that they only felt each other’s heart beat.

After a long time, Harry rolled over to lay his head on his elbow and look down at Louis. Gently, he asked, “Was that okay? I did not hurt you?”

Louis shook his head, keeping his eyes on Harry even though he was so close to napping. “I’m okay, I just needed you.”

“I needed you too,” Harry admitted.

Louis breathed and blinked slowly. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Like what?”

Louis slowly shifted onto his side so he could press his front right up into Harry. He wrapped an arm over Harry’s waist and played with the hem of his shirt. It gave him a moment to find the words. “I can’t explain it. I felt like nothing would fix me except for your body against mine. It feels almost wrong to have done it like that — to fuck away my pain.”

“Do you think that was fucking?” Harry asked.

“No,” Louis replied, correcting himself. It was rough but it was too momentous to be called that. “Though I’m not sure what else to call it.”

“Do you regret it?”

Louis shook his head. “No. I feel better.”

“Good, as do I,” Harry said before leaning forward to kiss Louis’ forehead. 

It made Louis think of what Harry had been like earlier, because he’d had just said he needed to feel better too. They both needed their medicine. And that made Louis thumb Harry’s hip and gently ask, “Why were you so quiet before? I’ve never seen you like that.”

Harry was quiet then. His eyes shifted from Louis’ eyes, down to where he’d started to fiddle with one of the tassels on Louis’ shirt. He let out a small, airy cough, and then quietly admitted, “I was scared.”

He seemed to be holding something back, so Louis clarified, “Of them deciding to call mutiny?”

Harry nodded. “That,” he breathed, “and losing you.”

Louis paused his thumbing. Then he brought his fingers to Harry’s chin and said, “It’s over now, at least.”

“Yes,” Harry replied. “I hope so.”

Louis kissed Harry softly. He’d only just begun to notice how raw his lips now were, how much Harry’s chin hair had rubbed against them earlier. When Louis pulled back, it was with a quiet smile.

Then Harry lay back onto the bed and looked up to the ceiling. Thoughtfully, he asked, “What happened outside? I assume the flag worked without issue.”

Louis chuckled inwardly. “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know what we would have done without you, it’s no wonder Liam and Niall gave you pardon.” Then he shifted himself up onto Harry’s front with a smile, resting his head on the hands he lay over Harry’s chest. Harry did not complain of the sudden weight, he merely started to play with Louis’ hair as Louis started to tell him what he’d missed. Louis told Harry how the flag went up and how Niall and Liam seemed to ignore him until he saw Tavis. He explained how Tavis confessed to destroying the gunpowder and how he was the one who ruined their supply of food too, and how Louis pushed him overboard because he’d done it all after finding out about their relationship. 

When Louis retold the words that Tavis had said to him in his last moments, how he’d taunted Louis with his sodomy, Harry’s brow tightened.

“I would have killed him,” Harry said seriously, “had you not already.”

Louis shouldn’t have, but the comment made him laugh. “I’m sorry to be such a pain.”

“You should be,” Harry replied, lips lifting just a touch with a soft grin as he smoothed the edge of Louis’ hair with his thumb.

“Since we’re stuck in here for the next while,” Louis said, his smile growing more, “perhaps I ought to make it up to you.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked further upwards, so he was smirking. “Perhaps,” he said lightly.

So Louis shifted up Harry’s front and he took Harry’s face in his hands, and he pressed another kiss to his lips. It was soft, welcoming, with just a touch of smile from their playful comments.

And then they kept kissing.

They kissed all afternoon. They kissed and welcomed the closeness they had finally found. They talked for moments too, about everything and nothing. About what they might do once they reached Brazil, and then about how they didn’t actually want to talk about that for a while yet. They wanted to savour the time that they had for sure, so they stopped talking and kissed more. And then Harry read to Louis and Louis lay in his arms, just listening, just feeling the vibration of Harry’s chest as he spoke. 

The sky turned pink and Louis felt peace.


	8. PYRITE

**PYRITE**

  
  


At the very edge of dawn, when the sky was still half-dark and everything was quiet and shaded blue, a single cannon went off.

It shot out of a ship, louder than any rifle or flintlock, and it blasted into wood. Into the hull of another ship.

Louis’ ship.

It hit the port side of the Black Dagger. It went straight into the hammocks of sleeping men.

It killed at least two.

And it pulled Louis from his sleep.

He jolted up, heart bumping. He wasn’t sure what he heard. It was a loud bang and smashing of wood, then a cry of voices. It sounded like something split in half.

Louis looked to Harry, whose face as only barely visible in the blueish daybreak. Harry’s eyebrows were taught. He was awake. He was looking back at Louis like something was very, very wrong.

Deja vu washed over Louis, memories from the morning before swirling in his mind. 

And then there was another bang. This one louder, closer. Louis was awake enough to recognise it. It was a cannon ball being sent into the side of his ship. He felt the vibrations of it shake the floor beneath the bed. He sprang from the mattress and grabbed his boots and dashed to the window, stomach all the way up in his chest. He tried to yank on his shoes as he looked but there was nothing to be seen out on the horizon, no sails in the distance. Wherever the cannon was firing from, it could not be seen from the back of the ship.

Harry was suddenly at Louis’ side, looking through the window as he pulled his own pair of Louis’ boots on. They needed to be dressed to run or fight or both, instincts for a pirate.

“We’re being attacked,” Louis breathed, voice marked with fear. “And we’re trapped in this room.”

“Do you know who it is?” Harry asked, “I can’t see anything.”

“I can’t either,” Louis replied. “I can’t see a thing. We should try the bathroom window.”

Harry nodded at him and they quickly made their way to the bathroom and stuck their heads into the small cavity in front of the window. It was barely big enough to house one face, let alone two. But they need not fight over the space, for right there, just past the window was the rear of another ship. It was incredibly close, maybe only two or three metres away from the Black Dagger. It was too close even to see any of its flags, all they saw through Louis’ grimy window was a towering wall of wood.

“We need to get out of this room,” Harry breathed, stepping back from the window.“Can you pick the lock?” 

“I can try. I’m not very go—” Another cannon blasted into Louis’ ship and this time the shaking of the blast ungrounded Louis from his feet. He smacked into Harry’s side, who quickly caught Louis’ waist and steadied him. Louis latched one hand onto Harry’s arm and the other onto the frame of the window. He let out a short breath and then continued, “I’m not very good, it was always Liam’s talent.”

“We could smash the other window and climb out,” Harry suggested. He glanced down at Louis and then added, “Though I don’t know if we could climb up to deck without losing our footing in a blast.”

Louis considered the idea. He’d never climbed out of a rear window on a ship, lest not in cannon fire. He wasn’t sure of their chances of making it, but it seemed worth a shot. If they failed, they’d land in the ocean. It seemed better than waiting around to be taken captive by other pirates, and it seemed most  _ definitely  _ better than drowning in the case that Louis’ ship went down.

“We should try,” Louis said decidedly. “We can use the rope from your restraints to tie ourselves to the ship in case we fall.”

“So we’re not left out in the ocean,” Harry added.

“Exactly.”

Another blast hit the ship and rocked Harry and Louis into each other.

Harry squeezed Louis’ waist to check he was on steady footing before he started back for the bedroom, “We should take the cutlass from beneath your bed. Just in case.”

Louis followed Harry out to the main room and couldn’t help himself. It was terrible timing, they needed to escape the room, but he grinned up at Harry and said, “Thank God someone didn’t give that thing away yesterday.”

Harry looked back at him with a dark smile and a chuckle. “ _ Thank God _ .”

Harry went for the ropes and Louis went for the cutlass. Another blast hit the ship and this time it was accompanied by the sounds of shouting close by. There were gunshots too, marked sporadically between the bellow of men’s voices. Whoever was attacking them sounded like they had just boarded the ship. Louis felt sick. The Black Dagger had no cannons of her own. She had no gunpowder for flintlocks. All those sounds outside came only from the other ship. The only thing Louis could recognise from his own crew were their screams and shouts.

“Fuck,” Louis swore under his breath as he tucked himself under the edge of his bed to reach his cutlass. He had no idea where Ernest was, nor Niall or Liam. For all he knew, they were already dead.

Louis reached his hand up to the hilt of the cutlass strapped beneath the base of his bed and pulled it out. He got to his feet and and turned to Harry in the window, who was wrapping fabric around his fist to punch it out. The lengths of rope were on the desk next to him.

“Come quick,” Harry urged, looking between Louis and the door. “They sound close.”

Louis opened his ears and heard the shouts that Harry was referring to. They sounded like they were in the hallway outside. Louis got to Harry as quickly as he could and then said, “Smash it now. I’ll protect you.”

Harry nodded. He turned and smashed one square in the glass lattice of the window. He’d have to punch out a few and then kick out the wooden frames between them. 

Harry punched a second panel and sucked in a sharp breath. He pulled back his hand and looked at it. Outside their room, the voices grew closer. They were right on the other side of the door.

“Are you hurt?” Louis asked, trying to ignore the panic in his voice. It felt as though they were about to be found. 

Harry shook out his hand, saying, “Don’t worry, Lou.”

Harry punched a third panel and it didn’t break. He must have hurt his knuckles on the last panel and not been able to give his full force to this one.

“Harry,” Louis said, panic in his voice most definitely rising. 

Harry hit the glass again and again it didn’t break. All that broke was the skin on Harry’s knuckle. Red begun to seep into the fabric around his fist as he sucked in a breath. 

“Wha—” Louis started, instinctively reaching out a hand to touch Harry, as though that would help, but the door handle to the hallway suddenly shook. The voices were  _ right there. _ They were yelling to unlock the door.

Harry and Louis gave each other panicked looks and out of nowhere, Harry took it upon himself to punch his bloody fist into another window as hard as he could. A desperate attempt to escape.

Just as he pulled out his hand, there was a gunshot. Louis spun his head back and saw immediately the door start to swing open. They’d shot apart the lock and now there were men tumbling into the room. 

He needed to protect Harry enough for them to get out the window. There would be no time to tie themselves up with rope — they’d have to simply jump out into the ocean and hope that she would be kinder to them than these men. 

Four pirates that Louis didn’t recognise ran straight at him with raised voices. They had their cutlasses out. Two had flintlocks as well. He wasn’t sure how he was going to take them all.

But he was going to try.

Louis leaped forward and jabbed his cutlass at the closest one. They parried his strike, but they were tall and wide and moved slower than Louis, so he swung around and stabbed them in the gut. Louis kicked the blade from the man he’d just hit and yanked his cutlass out of him. Louis attacked again, striking him in the side. He pulled his blade from the man’s body, blood splattering onto the floor and Louis did not stop to look at it. 

Louis swung at the next man. He threw his arm down at them, bringing their blades together, and then kicked the man back. Louis stepped towards him to strike again.

And then.

One of the other pirate’s foot came out and kicked Louis in the side of the leg. The blow was hard, painful. He could not tell if something in him cracked or if it was another gunshot outside. He fell to his knees.

His cutlass was torn from his hand.

Another foot came. It kicked him in the rib.

Louis fell to his side. He went to throw out his hands and catch himself but another foot came, and another, and another and then hands were on him. They were grabbing Louis’ arms. They were shoving his face into the timber of the floor as they tied his hands together behind him like a hog. Louis’ lip caught on the head of a nail in the floor. It cut at him, drawing blood.

Louis tried to breath as spit and blood spilled from his mouth to the floor. He tried to turn his face to see what had happened to Harry, but there were too many bodies on him. He couldn’t see a thing.

So he yelled out hoarsely instead. “Harry! Harry! Where—”

A sack was shoved over Louis’ head. 

He tried to shake it free, but Louis was pinned. He couldn’t do anything.

All he could see was brown hessian, specks of white light. All he could feel were hands. All he could taste was blood and he could hear was shouting. 

Louis was suddenly yanked up by the arm so he was standing. He tried to place his feet but he was disorientated. Louis kicked and squirmed and shouted, trying to get the hands off him, trying to get them to drop him, but it was fruitless. One of the men carrying him told him to shut it and punched him in the gut. It winded him. He couldn’t talk. All he could do was gulp for air.

Louis’ feet dragged along the ground as he was hauled from his room.

* * *

  
Louis’ knees hit the timber as he was dumped to the ground. He landed awkwardly, still trying to catch his breath. Something wet was beneath him, as if he was in a puddle of water. 

Someone propped Louis up so he was kneeling. This was the position that men were beheaded in. 

Louis’ burlap mask was torn from his face. His head tugged to the side in the force of it.

He was outside.

The sky was still half-dark. The sun was merely a far away bump on the horizon. A ship with Spanish sails was parked up next to the Black Dagger, with ropes and planks connecting the two. It had to be the same ship from the day before, the Caine, only these were not Spanish merchants.

They were pirates.

They stood around Louis in a crowd, staring down at him in the middle with distaste. Louis could not pick out which of them was their captain. They seemed to be waiting, standing still and motionless. It was quiet, as though the fighting had suddenly come to an end.

Louis looked down and realised he was not kneeling in a puddle. It was a pool of blood.

His own men dotted the deck, lying motionless.

Some were still alive, either sitting on the ground in surrender or kneeling behind Louis in their own restraints. He looked around at their faces. They looked back with an expression of fear. This had never happened. They’d never been raided. None of them had guns to fight off their captors. And they hadn’t had a captain to help them either — he’d been locked in a room with Harry.

Louis’ eyes found Liam. 

He was kneeling amongst the remaining men. There was a bloody gash down his chin. And thankfully, Niall was behind him. So too was Ernest.

“Are you okay?” Liam mouthed silently.

Louis nodded shortly.

“Harry?” Liam mouthed again. He actually looked concerned.

But Louis didn’t know what had happened to Harry. He didn’t know if he was going to be brought out here too, or if he’d already been killed like Louis had managed to do to one of the attackers. So he shrugged gloomily and looked away from Liam.

Louis looked down to the blood at his knees and watched it seep up into his trousers, like death was creeping towards him.

Louis looked back up to the men who had captured them, unsure of who to address. So he spoke to them all. “Who are you?” he yelled. “Who is your captain?”

The men did not reply, but a few of them looked down at him amusedly. 

“I demand to see your captain!” Louis bellowed again. “Now!”

One of the men, a short fellow with one eye, walked up to Louis then. He looked down at him and grinned, and then he kneed Louis in the stomach.

“Your time is finally up, Tomlinson,” he sneered, bending down over Louis like he was a dog.

Louis was sore. The blow to his stomach knocked him, sent bile up his throat, but he would not give up. Not in front of his men. So he bared a snarling tooth up at the man and spat on him.

“You dog!” the man snapped, stepping back from Louis. “I ought to kill you right now.”

He unsheathed his cutlass and lifted it and then suddenly, a hand was on his wrist. One of his crewmates had caught him and forced him to slow his blade. Then they calmly said, “Don’t, Jacob. Let Cap kill him — it will be his revenge for what Tomlinson has done.”

The man who Louis had spat on, Jacob, held his arm up in the air. He did not want to step down, Louis could see that much in the way his chin was clenched tightly, but he listened to his crewmate. He snatched his arm from their grip with a growl, then readjusted his shirt and stepped away from Louis and back into the crowd.

The man who had grabbed Jacob’s arm then leaned down to Louis and said in a serious, unyielding manner, “You would do good to keep your mouth shut.”

“And you would do good to untie me,” Louis sneered back.

The man went to reply to Louis, but something caught his eye. He looked upwards, up over Louis’ shoulder. To the door into the quarter gallery.

Another man shifted too, eyes catching on the same sight.

And then another and another. 

Louis turned to follow their gaze and his heart fluttered.

It was Harry.

He was emerging out of the dark depths of the doorway at the back of the ship. His cheekbones cut through the shadows of the early morning and his hair whipped softly in the breeze. He had Louis’ cutlass in his hand and blood dripped from it. He looked like a character, the dark prince in a play. The main man who had just slayed all his foes and was on his way to save his damsel.

And Louis was his damsel.

Louis did not fight the grin that pulled at his lips. His heart thrummed. He felt hope spread through him like sunlight. The sun rose a little more in the distance.

Harry walked towards the crowd, expression cut sharp. He looked like he didn’t fear anything.

He looked like he was going to kill them all.

Louis wanted to catch Harry’s eye. He wanted Harry to look and see him and know that he was still alive. They were  _ both _ still alive.

But Harry did not see him.

He did not look in his direction at all.

He kept his gave straight ahead — trained on the crowd of men that surrounded Louis and his crew. He stalked towards them, keeping Louis’ cutlass dutifully at his side.

Louis watched silently as Harry walked right past him, into the centre of the crowd. 

Harry stopped just front of Louis and stood motionless, facing the crowd. Louis watched Harry’s back and how it only moved slightly with each articulate breath. Louis’ heart stopped. He didn’t know what Harry was about to do, who he was going to attack first. All the men were staring at him like they didn’t know either.

And then Harry lifted his chin.

And he yelled, “Johnathan!” 

Confusion washed over Louis. He didn’t understand what Harry was doing. He didn’t know who Johnathan was.

A man stepped forward from the clutches of the crowd. He was a square faced with a shaved head. Scars dashed his brow. He raised his hand slightly and called back to Harry, “Aye! I’m here, Captain!”

Something dark and putrid and cold washed over Louis.

He looked to Harry, standing there with Louis’ cutlass, and felt like he might be sick.

This was Harry’s crew.

Which meant that Harry’s crew were the ones on the Caine the day before. They were the ones on the Black Dagger’s tails.

And that meant Harry hadn’t saved their ship at all. He hadn’t discovered the Spaniards’ flag language and used it to stave them off. He’d been communicating with his own ship, his own men. They weren’t waiting faithfully in Port Royal. Harry had been lying. He’d been lying the whole time.

A hard lump stuck itself into Louis’ throat. He felt played. He felt stupid. He’d given so much to Harry and it was all a ploy. Louis had played right into Harry’s hands. Harry was not just a pirate, he was  _ pyrite _ . He was fake, fool’s gold. There was nothing authentic about him.

“What is this?” Harry asked the man who had stepped from the crowd, Johnathan. He had to be Harry’s quartermaster.

“We’ve come to get you as you wished,” Johnathan replied.

Louis wanted to be sick. He wanted to vomit up all his guilt. Harry had pressed himself into Louis and Louis had thought it love making. But it hadn’t been. Harry hadn’t been giving him love bites. He’d just been giving him bruises.

Louis’ nostrils flared. He could not bring himself to look back at Liam. At Niall. He knew they’d be waiting to spit at him, feeling just as betrayed. Louis would have their blood on his hands. 

The sky started to streak orange above them and Louis could have laughed, because it was at that moment that it dawned on him. This had never been a fair fight. He’d never been playing chess with Harry at all. It was all rigged from the start, everything Louis thought was a decision was not. It was another domino falling into place so that Harry could pull off his plan.

Harry, who had taken off Louis’ clothes, had taken off his fears and his insecurities. Harry, who’d only done it to win.

Louis should have seen this all coming. He knew from the start that this story ended in betrayal. Harry had called Louis his  _ fair youth _ , but it had been Harry all along. It was always going to be Harry. His love of Shakespeare had been a sick joke.

He was a greater liar, a greater actor than Louis had ever expected.

Louis prepared himself to spit at Harry’s boots when he came close, but of course, Harry was wearing  _ Louis’ _ boots. He’d slowly been taking everything from Louis and this was how it all came together.

Harry’s voice cut through Louis’ thoughts. He stepped towards his quartermaster and said, “I did not ask for your return.”

“But you did,” Johnathan replied, slightly confused. “Did you not?”

“No,” Harry said, voice commanding. “What makes you think I did?”

Johnathan immediately looked back to the crowd and pointed. Then he said, “We found him.”

Both Louis and Harry looked to the crowd, and there, at the end of Johnathan’s finger, a figure approached.

A familiar figure.

One with gangly arms and black hair and a thick Scottish accent.

Tavis.

He looked ratty. His neck was all bruised up from where Louis had held him too tightly the day before. His hair was slightly matted, and the clothes that hung from him were not his own.

“You,” Harry breathed. He seemed just as shocked as Louis. But then he turned back to Johnathan, his second in command and asked, “What has this man told you? He knows nothing but lies.”

“Lies?” Johnathan repeated. “He told us that you had spoken to him and said that you could not risk us approaching yesterday, that you were forced to raise the flag so to not raise any alarms. He said he discovered you aboard yesterday morn and that you snuck him a message for us to wait until daybreak — where we could approach undetected.”

“And you believed him?”

“Why would we not, Harry? We waited our two weeks, and when you had not steered the Black Pearl back to us, we knew something was wrong. We knew you had not yet commandeered the ship. So we came to help you.” Johnathan asked, oblivious to the fact that Tavis could have been lying.

Though Louis knew he had. There was no way Harry could have slipped Tavis a message. He simply couldn’t.

Harry stepped away from his quartermaster and looked over at Tavis. He looked at him thoughtfully, taking him all. And then he smiled to the young man. “So Tavis,” he said. “We finally meet face to face.”

Perhaps Harry had. Perhaps this was something else he hid from Louis. Perhaps he’d slipped something to Tavis under the door. Louis felt like he couldn’t think straight. Nothing seemed to make sense. He could think of when Harry would have been able to send Tavis a note or a message or even a look. Not unless it was when Louis was sleeping.

Harry walked around Tavis, bringing his hand to his chin as he mulled over him. Then, thoughtfully, he said, “You told my crew I was in need of help? You told them not to obey my orders because I was in danger? ” He paused and then turned to the crowd as he asked his last question. “You cheated your own captain, boy?”

No one said anything. Not even Tavis. It seemed like a loaded question — one with no right answer. To say he had would paint him as a betrayer to Louis’ crew, and to say he hadn’t would paint him as a liar to Harry’s. Either way, it would mark Tavis as a man with no loyalty. He would not be easily trusted.

It was a smart question to ask. Louis would have kissed Harry for asking it a day ago. Now it just confused him.

Harry chuckled darkly at Tavis, taking a step towards him. His shoulders were so much broader than the kid before him. “It seems as though you have no tongue, boy. Do you not understand my question? Is it because you lied to my crew to bring them back to this ship? I was in no danger, I had a plan laid out and now you have ruined it for your own good. Tell me, Tavis, tell  _ everyone,  _ why is it you would betray your own captain? Why did you choose to betray Captain Tomlinson?”

Harry knew the answer to that question. Louis had told him the night before. Tavis wanted power, he wanted a captaincy. His last word to Louis had been  _ sodomite _ filled with venom, and that was what sent Louis throwing him off the edge.

And now Harry wanted Tavis to say that.

Louis tried to understand why. Was this all a plan to mock Louis’ inclination? Had Harry played right into it to make the blows all the more crushing? Louis had never, afterall, heard stories of Harry being a sodomite before he came aboard the Black Dagger. Or was he proving something to Louis in this play? Did he want Tavis to say the words not to ridicule Louis, but to mark himself out amongst a bunch of sodomite-apologists?

“Tell us, Tavis,” Harry commanded again. “Tell us what your captain did to have you choose me over him.”

Louis was not sure if Tavis dare say — that very thing had been Tavis’ captain sleeping with the one asking him to expose them.

But Tavis did.

He turned to the men surrounding them and attempted a voice as assertive as Harry’s. “My old Captain, Louis Tomlinson — your  _ enemy  _ — bedded your captain.”

An audible gasp went through all the men on board, both Harry and Louis’ men alike.

Louis felt everyone’s eyes fall on him. He felt his own crew’s gaze burn up his spine. He did not turn to look at them back. All he did was watch how Tavis’ sudden words affected Harry. They seemed to take him by surprise, as though he hadn’t actually expected the words to come from him. He almost looked impressed by Tavis’ gall.

But Harry quickly collected himself, and replied, “So you betrayed your captain because he chose to sleep with another man?”

“I betrayed him because he slept with  _ you. _ ”

Tavis spat the words at Harry’s feet, hoping they would bite at Harry. But they didn’t seem to. Instead, he looked at Tavis like he was an idiot. “But Tavis,” he said, “why did you then come back? If you hate me enough for that to poison your loyalty of your own captain, why bring my men back to me with all their guns and knives?”

Tavis scoffed at Harry, like he was the truly stupid one. “You expect them to fight for you now? After you entered Louis’ bed? —”

Louis tried to hear the next bit, but he was cut off. One of his crewmates, Shannon, breathed into his ear, “What the fuck are they talking about?” He sounded taken aback. Disbelieving.

Louis shook him off and trained his ears back on Harry and Tavis, trying to work out for himself what the bloody hell was going on.

As Louis zoned back in, Tavis was saying something about Harry’s crew. “—won’t need to fight for you, not now that they know what you’ve done. I brought them back to see for themselves that their captain is a sodomite.”

“They already know what I am!” Harry blasted at Tavis. “You are just a measly, witless, thieving liar.” Harry stood closer with each word, until he was mere centimetres away from Tavis. Until he was breathing down his neck.

“I am a  _ pirate _ , Styles. I am no different from you.”

“You’re right,” Harry seethed. “I can be just as foul as you.”

And then, in one swift movement, without Tavis even seeing, Harry drove his cutlass upwards. Straight into Tavis’ gut. Up into his lung.

Tavis tightened up. He shot his hands up to the pain, clasping the blade where it went into him. He looked shocked. Sick. The colour went from his face. His eyes went wide.

So did Louis’.

He could not believe what he was seeing. Harry had just killed a man. He’d done it ferociously, like a beast that Louis had never seen in him. And he did not know what to do with this information, he did not know what it meant. Because Tavis was a liar, but so was Harry. He kept the knowledge of his ship from Louis. If Harry had told Louis about his crew on the Spaniard’s ship the day before, he could have stopped them. They surely wouldn’t have sunk the boat knowing Harry was on it. Louis wasn’t sure if they’d really been in danger at all.

And Louis couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t know what else Harry might be hiding from him. Harry had been the one who suggested running away together. He’d been there the day before with Louis, bargaining for their lives. Louis had seen the truthful, honest fear in Harry’s eyes then. He did not think him such a good actor, but Louis could not be sure. He could not trust his gut that Harry was not acting the day before. He could not trust the cutlass that Harry had just plunged into Tavis’ gut. 

It didn’t make sense for Harry to hide his crew’s whereabouts from Louis and do all this if it was just a part of some bigger scheme as he thought when Harry had first called out his quartermaster's name. But Harry could tell Louis anything — they’d told each other so much — so why not this? Why could Harry not tell Louis anything?

Harry pulled the cutlass from Tavis’ body, and he fell to the ground. Harry took a moment to look down at the slain boy, breaths huffing out of his chest. 

“Men,” he breathed. Harry pushed his hair from his face and then looked up and around the shocked faces of his crew. “It is time this ends.”

And then he looked back to Louis, for the first time since Louis had been captured. His eyes were rounder, softer than Louis was expecting. Harry had just killed a man, but he looked sorrowful. Remorseful. He caught Louis’ eyes and then held them for a moment. And then, softly, he added, “It is time you know the truth.”

It felt as if he were talking to Louis alone.

Harry looked back to his awaiting audience and began his story. “A month ago, I stalked a Spanish galleon to Tortuga to steal Captain Swan’s maps so we could find our biggest loot. My men and I lined the streets with slaughtered men from their crew. However, when I got on board, the maps were gone. They were gone with a man that I earlier brushed past on the docks. So I searched for the man and found his name, Jules Mercury, written into the dockmaster’s log. Jules Mercury is, of course, the alias of one Louis Tomlinson. This here captain of the Black Dagger, and one of my greatest competitors. With that knowledge, I hatched a plan. I was going to board the Black Dagger and hide amongst the men as a crew member until I got my hands on the maps, and I was going to finally kill Captain Louis Tomlinson too. At the time, I thought it a grand, infamous plan. I would take him from the inside. Alone. And while I was onboard, my crew was going to tail the ship. You were to follow me until I commandeered the ship and signaled for you to approach to take the men that I could not alone, for once I killed Louis, it would not be long until I was found out. It would seem I did not do this in a timely fashion and you came to check on me — this is when I raised the flag to halt yesterday. And the reason I told you to halt? Because I was discovered too soon on this ship and I lost any ability to find a costume and blend in as a new recruit. When I was discovered, I met Louis Tomlinson for the first time.” Harry paused and glanced back at Louis. He looked ruminating. He looked sorry. Then he looked back to the mass of men and continued. “If you know Louis Tomlinson, the captain of the Black Dagger, you will know him to be sharp, to be dangerous and whip smart. You will know him to be one of the deadliest pirates on the seas. You will know him to be someone worth taking down.  _ But _ . If you know Louis Tomlinson, the man behind the scar, you will know him to be thoughtful, and kind, and still so sharp you’ll cut yourself on his humour. Louis Tomlinson is a man who will mend your cuts when you are a prisoner on his ship. Louis Tomlinson is a man who will feed you and clothe you and read you poetry. Instead of killing me once he discovered my identity, he took me to his room to hold me hostage to unravel my plans so that his crew would not be killed. He did as any good captain would, knowing immediately that another captain would not hide on his ship unless it was a part of a bigger plan. But quickly, my plan began to unravel entirely. I found myself enamoured with Louis. I found myself not wanting to rob and kill him anymore. We formed a friendship and then we found lovers in each other. We confided in each other a great deal — more than I will admit — but I could not tell him of my plan because I no longer wanted to pull it off, nor give him reason to kill me. Louis Tomlinson is a fighter and a survivor and I feared telling him that my crew was going to come and board his ship if I took too long to send word to them. I kept the whereabouts of you, my crew, from him because I did not want to break the bond I had just formed. We had not known each other long enough, and the future was too uncertain. I thought Louis too fair, and too dangerous, to upset. But then Louis and I were discovered. His quartermaster found us and he was going to call a mutiny, and so we had to keep more secrets. We kept our relationship from Louis’ crew to keep our lives, and in return, Zayn and Liam would be reunited. Liam is Louis’ quartermaster and Zayn is my navigator. We knew our relationship betrayed both of our crews, so we kept it hidden until we could no longer. When you men, my crew, showed up on the horizon yesterday morning, I needed to tell you to hold back so that Louis and his crew would not know it was you. I felt I could not risk them knowing who you were, and survive that. However, your arrival sent Louis’ ship into chaos for someone else on board had been pulling off their own plot. Tavis was Louis’ barrelman, he was keen on getting a higher rank and he was always on the  _ lookout _ . So he discovered mine and Louis’ relationship before anyone else. Instead of bringing it to light or calling mutiny or anything of the sort, he came up with a plan to undermine the entire crew. He ruined half of the ship’s food, forcing us to set course for Brazil. And he ruined the gunpowder so that the ship would be vulnerable to any attacks — which as you can see, is the truth. The Black Dagger could not put up any fight this morn. Tavis did this all to undermine Louis’ power and have his crew believe that he was careless. Tavis is a liar, who as it seemed, would say anything to get you under his power. Louis threw him to the sea yesterday once he confessed to these actions. So he did not board your ship with the request of my rescue. He did so to ruin us both, for the mere fact that we chose the wrong person to admire.”

There was a quiet moment where the entire crowd of men from both sides stewed on what Harry had just said. 

And then Shannon, the crewmate that had interrupted Louis before, spoke again. He turned to Louis and asked, “Is it true?”

Louis felt conflicted. Truthfully, he believed Harry. He believed every single word he said. But he was scared to. He was scared to admit that Harry lied to him and he still wanted him. He felt as though he shouldn’t, not with the eyes of his crewmates on him. 

But lies would not help any more. It was too late. 

So Louis told Shannon what he did know to be true.

“I had a relationship with Har— Captain Styles behind your backs, yes,” he admitted.

“How could you?” another of Louis’ crew asked.

“I— I cannot explain,” Louis breathed. “I thought I truly knew him.”

Louis had not realised it, but everyone had been listening. So too had Harry. He came over to Louis then and bent to his knee, not caring of the blood that coloured his trousers.

“You do know me, Lou,” he said softly. Harry brought up a hand to Louis’ chin, gently embracing it, and Louis did not know whether to flinch. He did not know whether to pull away. He had seen Harry this closely so many times before and thought he had known the shape of Harry’s lips, the lines in his face, the tan across his nose. Harry looked deeply into Louis’ eyes, searching for some thread of reciprocation, and added, “You are no fair youth, Louis Tomlinson.”

“But are you?” Louis asked. His voice trembled.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I promise.”

“Promises are empty in piracy,” Louis stated. He sounded defeated, though he could not discern if it was because he was succumbing to his need of Harry to be his, or because he was tired of fighting for his life.

“I can prove it you, my love.”

Wordlessly, with only his eyes, Louis asked Harry,  _ how? _

Harry placed a kiss to Louis’ forehead and then stood. He faced the crowd and said loudly, confidently, “I cannot captain you men if I cannot be with Louis. Either join me with him, or don’t.”

No one moved. No one wanted to be the first to say they accepted Harry and Louis’ relationship, but no one wanted to be the first to take a stand against their captain either.

And then.

There was a single sound of a boot against wood.

Louis looked towards the sound. It came from above. There he was, a figure, a man standing high up on the gallery of the Spanish ship. Louis hadn’t noticed him before, he could not tell where he came from — only that now he was stood on the edge of the ship with a hand against the rigging, and he was glowing in the first orange glimmer of daylight. His skin was warm, his features were sharp. He had dark hair that fell in a swoop around his face, almost touching the cheekbones carved from his skin. 

“Zayn,” Liam breathed.

Louis pulled his eyes from the man to glance at Liam, whose eyes were wide, his face in awe. It sent something bubbling through Louis’ stomach to see Liam’s face like that.

Zayn lifted a hand to his brow to cover his gaze from the sun, then hopped down from the edge of the ship to one of the planks that ran between the ships. He landed lightly, his body poised and confident. He glanced towards Louis, keeping a cool watch on him as he made his way down to them. He hopped easily from plank to deck, then came to a stop in front of Louis’ remaining group of men.

Then he spoke. His voice was soft, almost uninterested. “You look different.”

He was looking down at Liam.

Liam let out a soft, self conscious breath and replied, “You do not.”

There was a small quiet between them, Zayn standing there and Liam kneeling before him. And then Zayn cracked a smile. The hollow in his cheek softened, and said, “Love, your hair is all gone.”

And that made Liam laugh.

Louis could only wonder what it was like to be so easy with someone, and after so long.

Zayn laughed too, like Liam’s hair was some sort of inside joke. And then he stepped forward, leant down, and kissed the bow of Liam’s mouth. It was a soft kiss, gentle and safe. Like the kisses Harry and Louis had given each other the night before. Finally, Zayn stood back up straight and turned to Harry and he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I will join you.”

This softened Harry’s face. He nodded.

And then Liam stood up.

“I will join too,” he said. “I’m wherever you are, Zayn.”

And then Johnathan stepped forward.

And then Ernest. 

And then another man.

And another.

And soon the rest of Louis’ men were standing too.

Men were appointing themselves to Harry’s — and  _ Louis’ _ — side. Louis did not understand. He remained on his knees until men were towering above him, and all he could do was look all around himself, amazed by the loyalty of all these men. Louis had been telling himself not to give in to Harry, not to let him get away with not being completely honest with him, but these men hadn’t done that. They seemed to accept that Louis and Harry had fallen for each other despite their histories, despite their circumstances.

Louis was not a proud enough man to suggest that they did so because they saw the goodness in their own captains and believed that they should only fall for another man made of the same thread.

But Louis, deep down, knew that he and Harry  _ were _ made from the same thread.

They were the same. In so many ways.

Harry had kept truths from Louis, but so too had Louis. Where Harry had kept them from a man he knew for a fortnight, Louis had kept them from the crew he’d known for years. Both had done it out of fear of the repercussions, for the fear of persecution.

And now, both had men that would lay down their weapons, despite so many years of fighting. Fighting that only followed them because they were pirates, not because they truly hated the other ship.

Even Niall was standing.

Louis swallowed and blinked back tears. The sun was high enough now to warm his face.

Harry walked to Louis slowly, with a soft smile on his face. He looked as though he too could not believe it. When he got to Louis, he held his hand out him. “Join us, love,” he smiled.

Louis felt frozen. To stand with Harry would be to commit to this new crew, to Harry. It felt like an admittance that Louis truly cared for Harry, and that he really had developed feelings over the past fortnight. It felt too good to be true. It felt like he was walking into a trap, for Louis had never had anything come easy in his life. Every decision had been a fight. Every new daybreak had always been another day to die.

And now was a chance to live.

Louis trembled, but he stood.

Harry took his arm and squeezed it. He smiled at Louis and said, “You are the greatest treasure of all.”

Louis couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe anything. The sun was climbing higher, it would be a cloudless day. At this rate, he almost expected everything to be over.

It was not.

As Harry began to turn to his crew, a cutlass came swinging at him.

Time slowed and Louis saw all of it.

Jacob, the man that Louis had spat on, held a cutlass above his head with two hands. He held it high, almost behind his head. His face was torn up into a grimace. As he brought down his blade, spit flung from his mouth. His eyes were bulbous.

Louis flinched back and closed his eyes.

He did not see the next moment.

But he heard it.

Metal on metal. Blade on blade.

Louis blinked open his eyes and Harry’s left arm was above them, staving off Jacob’s blade. Harry’s muscles strained under the weight, shielding the two of them. 

Louis could do nothing. He could not help, he could not fight alongside Harry. His hands were still tied behind his back.

Harry lifted his leg and booted Jacob in the stomach, and in the moment that he stumbled backwards, Louis was able to look up. Jacob was not the only one to fight back. Other men had taken up arms and were fighting the crew that stood with Harry.

Jacob came back and Harry parried him, letting go of Louis’ arm finally so he could twirl and switch hands and swipe at Jacob expertly.

Louis glanced back around. Other men still tied up were turning to each other, trying to pull of their restraints. They were picking up weapons once they were out and joining the fight, and Louis looked for someone who could help him with his own ties. But none were close enough. None could help him.

Harry caught Louis’ arm again and Louis whipped back around. He looked back to Harry and found he’d already slain Jacob, who was a bloody mess on the ground.

“Stick with me,” Harry instructed, prodding Louis to stay close behind him as another of Harry’s ex-crew came at him.

And that was when hell broke loose for Louis.

He could only duck and jump in time with Harry as men attacked. Some had guns, others had throwing knives, and Louis had to work hard to not lose an ear or an eye. He stayed as close as he could, trying desperately to untie his hands as they moved through the mess of men. Harry would dip left, out of the way of a cutlass, and Louis would have to jump left too and narrowly miss getting stabbed. Louis would trip right, just trying to keep up without any free hands, and Harry would be right there, moving around him so that no one could strike Louis’ flesh.

“Can you help me?” Louis eventually managed as they spun around one of the masts and a knife just barely missed Louis’ shoulder as it lodged itself in the wood next to him.

Harry breathily chuckled as he swiped his cutlass around and stabbed the man as he tried to pull his cutlass from the mast. “I’m a bit busy here, darling.”

Harry jumped left as a man came from the right, shoving Louis behind himself. He jabbed forwards, flicking his attacker’s blade from their hands.

“We might do a bit more damage if I can help, Harry,” Louis chided lightly. He quickly ducked as another man came out them, then struck out a foot so the man tripped. 

Harry stabbed the man he was fighting and then quickly spun around Louis to cut the man that Louis had just tripped up. Then he stood up and blew his hair from his face. 

“You seem to be doing just alright as you are,” Harry grinned. Actually fucking grinned, as though this were all fun. As though it were completely fine that Louis was compromised, his hands were  _ literally  _ behind his back. “Besides,” Harry added, “Did you not keep me tied up for days on end?”

“Perhaps— Duck!” Louis shouted as another man came. Harry did as he was told, dropping down in time with Louis, then turned and struck his cutlass into their latest attacker. “But considering the circumstances, I might find it somewhat preferable to  _ not _ be a fucking liability.”

“You’re always a liability, sweetness,” Harry replied, grinning over his shoulder as he pulled his blade from his victim. And Louis was not wrong to suspect Harry quite enjoyed being his protector, that he rather kind of liked the playfully annoyed look slapped across Louis’ face. Harry quickly pulled him into his chest and attacked someone behind Louis. All Louis could do was press himself as tightly into Harry’s front and hope not to get stabbed in the back — again. 

Harry suddenly pulled back from Louis. He looked down at him with a grin across his face. “Always such a liability, Louis. Putting me at risk of becoming too distracted by your beauty.”

Louis could not bite back his smile at that. Harry was too good at saying such things. They were always so obvious, but they never failed to impress him. 

“But,” Louis started, trying to one-up Harry.

But he did not get to finish.

Something hard and round and metal hit the side of Louis’ skull.

The world went sideways. It spun and hummed. And then it went dark.


	9. AVENTURINE

**AVENTURINE**

When Louis came to, it was only moments later, yet the sun felt so much brighter. It hurt to open his eyes, so Louis blinked a few good times. His head throbbed and he could taste blood.

“Darling,” came a voice.

Louis blinked again and there was a figure above him. They were glowing at the edges in the early morning sunlight, streaks of orange shining through their long, hanging curls.

“Harry,” Louis managed. His voice did not quite feel like his own, it was rough, groggy. Like he’d been coughing too much.

“Are you okay?” came the reply. A hand came too, curving around the apple of Louis’ cheek. It was soft, damp with sweat. Louis blinked a few more times and the world came a little more into view. He looked up at Harry like he was lost.

“What happened?” Louis asked.

Harry thumbed Louis’ cheek and replied softly, “You were struck with the handle of a flintlock. But it’s okay, it’s over now.”

“It’s over?” Louis parroted. He could not quite collect his thoughts.

“Yes, love.” Harry nodded. “We made it.”

Louis took a moment to try and recollect the morning, all the events that had lead up to his waking up in the bright glow of the sun. Flashes of fighting and kneeling in a pool of blood and trying to punch out a window played back in reverse. And then Louis thought of the moment just before he blacked out — how he could not fight because he had his hands tied behind his back.

Louis looked down.

And he lifted his hands to his face.

They were no longer tied. 

Louis was free. He could place his hands wherever he desired. So he laid one on the hand that Harry had on his cheek. He felt the sweat on Harry’s skin mixed with cracks of dried blood from his cut in the window.

Harry smiled down at him. “We should go,” he said. “Can you sit up?”

Louis attempted to shift himself, moving up onto his elbow. His body ached and his head hurt, but he could move. That was enough.

Harry helped him all the way up, then he brought Louis’ arm over his shoulder and tucked a hand around his waist. They walked, slowly and carefully, across the deck to the awaiting galleon. Louis could not help himself, looking around at the mess that had been made. The Black Dagger was not in good shape. Her hull was blown into parts from cannon fire. It was something Louis had not noticed in the clutches of the crowd earlier, nor in the flurry of the fight. But now that the ship had fallen into silence, it was eerie to see how her wood had collapsed into itself, how one of the masts had cracked open and fallen to the head of the ship. It was a wonder the ship was still floating at all, though Louis was not sure for how much longer. Bodies were everywhere too, pooling with blood. Men were strewn about, laying on the ground and over bannisters and across barrels. Louis’ eyes fell on the motionless body of Tavis, he looked so slight compared to so many of these other bodies. He was only a teenager, one who had put himself in a game had by adults. He had caused so much chaos, so much pain, and now he was merely a single body amongst many. In a way, they were all like that, these pirates, leaving a wake of distraction in their effort to survive. Louis did not know how he felt about that.

Louis turned away from the sight and hobbled away with Harry, up onto one of the planks that connected the Spanish ship to his.

“Where is the Pearl Rose?” Louis asked as they crossed ships.

“In Port Royal,” Harry replied. “We can go to her if you like.”

Louis wasn’t sure where he wanted to go. “What about Swan’s treasure?”

Harry smiled inwardly, amused by Louis. “We are the only ones who know the whereabouts of his maps. We can follow them any time we like.”

And then Harry helped Louis down onto the deck of galleon, a ship so much larger than his own, and walked him to the steps up to the quarter deck. “Sit, love,” Harry instructed, slowly bringing Louis down to the second step. “Now stay here, I’ll be back.”

Harry left Louis then, walking up past him to the deck above.

Louis took the opportunity to take in everything around him. Though his head ached, he could see clearly now. He could see how the sky was becoming less and less orange. It was yellow in the distance, bright blue above. And it was so, so bright. The sky had never felt so much brighter. And the ocean too, a deeper colour than it had ever been before. Perhaps it was his head injury that made everything seem so much more colourful, or perhaps it was the fact that finally, finally, Louis could sit outside in the sun relish in it.

He held out an arm and felt the ocean spray shimmer against it. The air was tepid, the ocean breeze cool. It sent a shiver up Louis’ spine.

Louis looked back to the deck before him. There were men sprinkled about. Some were mending the wounds of others. Others were pulling up the planks from the side of the ship, and fixing the rigging, and though there was plenty of movement, there was a quiet across the ship. It was settled, contemplative.

Louis looked around to see which faces were familiar and which were not. To his surprise, there was an even mix. Louis’ men were dotted all through Harry’s. They were helping each other, tending to each other’s cuts and introducing themselves. Some of Louis’ men were already up in the rigging, fiddling with the sails. Ernest was talking to some of the other younger men, the kids as small as he. He was smiling.

It was so easy.

Louis glanced to his left and found himself with eyes on Liam. He was stood at the edge of the other set of stairs up to the quarterdeck, and he was standing with his hand on Zayn’s chin. They were whispering to each other and smiling, pecking each other’s lips as though they had spent no time apart. Liam seemed to feel eyes on himself and glanced back to Louis, and Louis did not hide the soft smile that had spread across his face.

He should like to meet Zayn sometime — when Liam had finished kissing him.

Louis supposed, though, that may take a while.

Louis did not know what Harry was doing so he turned and tried to look up towards the quarterdeck. He could only see the top half of Harry’s head between the posts in the bannister. He was talking to someone at the helm of the ship. To Niall. So he had survived.

They had to be talking about routes, about where it would be that they ended up after all of this. Louis could not quite believe it though; Harry had been the reason Niall had lost his leg. To imagine him taking a stand and joining with Harry as he did before the fight broke out still did not quite feel real. None of it did.

Louis suddenly came back to himself, ashamed that he had hid so much when it could have been like this. His men had stayed by his side despite his betrayal. They did not need convincing that Louis was worth more than a mutiny and a death. He did not know what he had done, what he had given them, to have them feel that way. Louis was all but a single, mortal man. He was not special. He simply sailed the seas and took gold. His crew had to see something that he did not. 

Footsteps suddenly came down the steps behind Louis, the bounce of it shifting Louis slightly in his seat. He turned to find Harry skipping down towards him, smile on his face. Then he popped himself right down on the step next to Louis.

“We’re off now,” Harry said. There was a quiet, bubbling excitement in his voice.

But Louis did not know where he was off to. He felt overwhelmed by the ease on board, the glimmer of how things could have always been. It did not feel deserved. Or lasting. He knew this was all but a fleeting moment — they could not know what tomorrow would bring.

So Louis gave Harry a quiet smile and looked back out to the ocean horizon. They’d started to pull away from the Black Dagger, her carcass a lonesome sight amongst all that blue.

Louis felt a hand on his. It was Harry’s.

Harry seemed to have sensed the timid worry in Louis’ eyes because he said, looking out to the same direction as Louis, “I’m sorry.”

Louis squeezed Harry’s hand and kept his gaze out at sea.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, “for not telling you everything.”

Harry did not need to apologise. Not anymore. Not when Louis was just as much a liar as he was. He had kept so much from the people that stood on this deck, and that lined that of the shrinking Black Dagger. They were too similar, Harry and Louis. For both better and worse. They were wonderful together, but they were fallible too. They were merely men — men who had met in extenuating circumstances and were too used to living in the shadows. Too used to needing dishonesty. 

Louis took a quiet breath and then admitted, “I’m sorry I did not make you feel like you could.”

“You did,” Harry replied. “It was only my own fear that held me back.”

They were words that rang so true. Louis’ fear of rejection from his crew had caused so much of this mess. And yet, Louis’ crew were still there. Enough of them, at least. He could not win nor save them all, but the ones that mattered had stuck by him.

“You need not have those fear anymore, love,” Louis said. He turned to face Harry then, secure at last that it was truly over. That this moment was not too good to be true. It was not a rug about to be pulled out from him. He had permission to look at and hold and kiss Harry under the brightness of day. They could exist outside of night shadows. They could take a love that was not biting.

Love could be an adventure.

Harry looked back at Louis and their eyes locked. Louis got pulled in the milk-green of Harry’s gaze.

Harry was not pyrite.

“Aventurine,” Louis breathed..

Harry gave him a bemused look. “Aventurine?” He asked, lifting a brow.

“I’ve just realised. You are aventurine,” Louis replied. “You said I’m sodalite. If that is the case, then you are aventurine.”

Aventurine was a pale green. Aventurine was the colour of Harry’s eyes. Aventurine was an adventure.

Louis was not sure if he was in love, he was not sure what that was like, but he knew adventure. And Harry was an adventure.

Louis did not wait to explain this to Harry. He had all the time in the world, but none in that moment. Instead, he spoke without words, and he kissed his feelings into Harry.

They kissed longingly. They kissed with smiles. They kissed for so long that they did not notice the whip of wind in their hair, nor the rising sun. They did not notice the eyes on them, because for once, they did not need to.

Harry was green and Louis was blue, and that could not be a coincidence. For when green meets blue, they make the colour of the salt water. They become the spray of ocean and the rolling of waves. They become a single tide that washes into shore. Louis could not be sure he’d live to meet another shoreline, one where he could live as bravely as he did at sea, but with Harry at his side, he could not ignore his hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Tumblr Post](%E2%80%9C)


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